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A 



































Xovell’s Unternational Series 


A True Friend 


BY 

ADELINE SARGEANT 


Author of “ Seventy Times Seven,” “A Life Sentence,” Etc. 


NEW YORK 


FRANK F. LOVELL AND COMPANY 

142 and 144 Worth Street 



Every work in this series is published by arrangement with the author 


Issued Semi-Weekly. Annual Subscription, $30.00. Feb. n, 1890 


BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT WITH THE AUTHORS 



LOVELLS 

International Series 

OF 

MODERN NOVELS. 

v. 

THE NEW WORKS PUBLISHED IN THIS EXCELLENT 
SERIES, SEMI-WEEKLY, ARE ALWAYS THE FIRST 
ISSUED IN THIS COUNTRY. 

EVERY ISSUE IS PRINTED FROM NEW, CLEAR 
ELECTROTYPE PLATES, PRINTED ON FINE PAPER 
AND BOUND IN ATTRACTIVE PAPER COVERS OF 
ORIGINAL DESIGN. 


No. Cts. 

1. .Miss Eton of Eton Court. By Katharine S. Macquoid 30 

2. Hartas Marturin. By H. F. Lester 50 

3. Tales of To-Day. By Geo. It. Sims 30 

4. English Life Seen Through Yankee Eyes. By T. C. Crawford 50 

5. Penny Lancaster, Farmer. By Mrs. Bellamy 50 

6. Under False Pretences. By Adeline Sergeant 50 

7. In Exchange for a Soul. By Mary Linskill 30 

8. Guilderoy. By Ouida ; 30 

9. St. Cuthbert’s Tower. By Florence Warden 30 

10. Elizabeth Morley. By K. S. Macquoid 30 

11. Divorce; or Faithful and Unfaithful. By Margaret Lee 50 

12. Long Odds. By Hawley Smart 80 

13. On Circumstantial Evidence. By Florence Marryat 30 

14. Miss Kate; or Confessions of a Caretaker. By Bit a 30 

15. A Vagabond Lover. By Bita 20 

16. The Search for Basil. Lyndhurst. By Bosa Nouchette Carey 30 

17. The Wing of Azrael. By Mona C’aird 30 

18. The Fog Princes. By F. Warden 30 

19. John Herring. By S. Baring Gould 50 

20. The Fatal Phryne. By F. C. Phillips and C. J. Wills 30 

21. Harvest. By John Strange Winter 30 

22. Mehalaii. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

23. A Troublesome Girl. By The Duchess 30 

24. Derrick Vaughan, Novelist. By Edna Lyall 30 

25. Sophy Carmine. By John Strange Winter. 30 

26. The Luck of the House. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

27. The Pbnnycomequicks. By S. Baring-Gould 50 

28. Jezebel’s Friends. By Dora Bussell 30 

29. Comedy of a Country House. By Julian Sturgis 30 

30. The Piccadilly Puzzle. By Fergus Hume 80 

31. That Other Woman. By Annie Thomas 30 

32. The Curse of Carne’s Hold. By G. A. Henty 30 

33. Uncle Piper of Piper’s Hill. By Tasina 30 

34. A Life Sentence. By Adeline Sergeant 30 

35. Kit Windham. By Frank Barrett 30 

36. Thb Tree of Knowledge. By G. M. Robins... 30 


CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER. 


A TRUE FRIEND 










4 






















































A TRUE FRIEND 


A NOVEL 



ADELINE SARGEANT 

It 

Author of “The Luck of the House,” ‘-A Life Sentence/’ 
Etc., Etc. 



NEW YORK 

JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 

150 WORTH ST., COR. MISSION PLACE 


Copyright, 1S90, by 
JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY 


A TRUE FRIEND 


CHAPTER I. 

AN UNSUITABLE FRIENDSHIP. 

Janetta was the music governess — a brown little thing of 
no particular importance ; and Margaret Adair was a beauty 
and an heiress, and the only daughter of people who 
thought themselves very distinguished indeed ; so that the 
two had not, you might think, very much in common, and 
were not likely to be attracted one to the other. Yet, in 
spite of differing circumstances, they were close friends 
and allies ; and had been such ever since they were 
together at the same fashionable school where Miss Adair 
was the petted favorite of all, and Janetta Colwyn was the 
pupil-teacher in the shabbiest of frocks, who got all the 
snubbing and did most of the hard work. And great 
offence was given in several directions by Miss Adair’s 
attachment to poor little Janetta. 

“ It is an unsuitable friendship,” Miss Polehampton, the 
principal of the school, observed on more than one 
occasion, “ and I am sure I do not know how Lady Caro- 
line will like it.” 

Lady Caroline was, of course, Margaret Adair’s mamma. 

Miss Polehampton felt her responsibility so keenly in the 
matter that at last she resolved to speak “ very seriously ” 
to her dear Margaret. She always talked of “ her dear 
Margaret,” Janetta used to say, when she was going to make 
herself particularly disagreeable. For “ her dear Margaret ” 
was the pet pupil, the show pupil of the establishment : 
her air of perfect breeding gave distinction, Miss Pole- 
hampton thought, to the whole school ; and her refine- 
ment, her exemplary behavior, her industry, and her 
talent formed the theme of many a lecture to less accom- 


4 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


plished and less decorous pupils. For, contrary to all 
conventional expectations, Margaret Adair was not stupid, 
although she was beautiful and well-behaved. She was an 
exceedingly intelligent girl ; she had an aptitude for several 
arts and accomplishments, and she was remarkable for the 
delicacy of her taste and the exquisite discrimination of 
which she sometimes showed herself capable. At the 
same time she was not as clever — (“ not ^as glaringly 
clever,” a friend of hers once expressed it) — as little 
Janetta Colwyn, whose nimble wits gathered knowledge as 
a bee collects honey under the most unfavorable circum- 
stances. Janetta had to learn her lessons when the other 
girls had gone to bed, in a little room under the roof ; a 
room which was like an ice-house in winter and an oven in 
summer ; she was never able to be in time for her classes, 
and she often missed them altogether; but, in spite of 
these disadvantages, she generally proved herself the most 
advanced pupil in her division, and if pupil-teachers had 
been allowed to take prizes, would have carried off every 
first prize in the school. This, to be sure, was not 
allowed. It would not have been “ the thing ” for the 
little governess-pupil to take away the prizes from the girls 
whose parents paid between two and three hundred a year 
for their tuition (the fees were high, because Miss Pole- 
hampton’s school was so exceedingly fashionable) ; there- 
fore, Janetta’s marks were not counted, and her exercises 
were put aside and did not come into competition with 
those of the other girls, and it was generally understood 
amongst the teachers that, if you wished to stand well with 
Miss Polehampton, it would be better not to praise Miss 
Colwyn, but rather to put forward the merits of some 
charming Lady Mary or Honorable Adeliza, and leave 
Janetta in the obscurity from which (according to Miss 
Polehampton) she was fated never to emerge. 

Unfortunately for the purposes of the mistress of the 
school, Janetta was rather a favorite with the girls. She 
was not adored, like Margaret ; she was not looked up to 
and respected, as was the Honorable Edith Gore ; she was 
nobody’s pet, as the little Ladies Blanche and Rose 
Amberley had been ever since they set foot in the school ; 
but she was everybody’s friend and comrade, the recipient 
of everybody’s confidences, the sharer in everybody’s joys 
or woes. The fact was that Janetta had the inestimable 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


5 


gift of sympathy; she understood the difficulties of people 
around her better than many women of twice her age would 
have done; and she was so bright and sunny-tempered 
and quick-witted that her very presence in a room was 
enough to dispel gloom and ill-temper. She was, there- 
fore, deservedly popular, and did more to keep up the 
character of Miss Polehampton’s school for comfort and 
cheerfulness than Miss Polehampton herself was ever likely 
to be aware. And the girl most devoted to Janetta was 
Margaret Adair. 

(i Remain for a few moments, Margaret ; I wish to speak 
to you,” said Miss Polehampton, majestically, when one 
evening, directly after prayers, the show pupil advanced to 
bid her teachers good-night. 

The girls all sat round the room on wooden chairs, and 
Miss Polehampton occupied a high-backed, cushioned seat 
at a centre table while she read the portion of Scripture 
with which the day’s work concluded. Near her sat the 
governesses, English, French and German, with little 
Janetta bringing up the rear in the draughtiest place and 
the most uncomfortable chair. After prayers, Miss Pole- 
hampton and the teachers rose, and their pupils came to 
bid them good-night, offering hand and cheek to each in 
turn. There was always a great deal of kissing to be got 
through on these occasions. Miss Polehampton blandly 
insisted on kissing all her thirty pupils every evening ; it 
made them feel more as if they were at home, she used to 
say; and her example was, of course, followed by the 
teachers and the girls. 

Margaret Adair, as one of the oldest and tallest girls in 
the school, generally came forward first for that evening 
salute. When Miss Polehampton made the observation 
just recorded, she stepped back to a position beside her 
teacher’s chair in the demure attitude of a well-behaved 
school-girl — hands crossed over the wrists, feet in position, 
head and shoulders carefully erect, and eyes gently lowered 
towards the carpet. Thus standing, she was yet perfectly 
well aware that Janetta Cohvyn gave her an odd, impish 
little look of mingled fun and anxiety behind Miss Pole- 
hampton’s back ; for it was generally known that a lecture 
was impending when one of the girls was detained after 
prayers, and it was very unusual for Margaret to be 
lectured ! Miss Adair did not, however, look discora- 


0 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


posed. A momentary smile flitted across her face at 
Janetta’s tiny grimace, but it was instantly succeeded by 
the look of simple gravity becoming to the occasion. 

When the last of the pupils and the last also of the 
teachers had filed out of the room, Miss Polehampton 
turned and surveyed the waiting girl with some uncertainty. 
She was really fond of Margaret Adair. Not only did she 
bring credit to the school, but she was a good, nice, lady- 
like girl (such were Miss Polehampton’s epithets), and 
very fair to look upon. Margaret was tall, slender, and 
exceedingly graceful in her movements ; she was delicately 
fair, and had hair of the silkiest texture and palest gold ; 
her eyes, however, were not blue, as one would have 
expected them to be ; they were hazel brown, and veiled 
by long brown lashes — eyes of melting softness and dreami- 
ness, peculiarly sweet in expression. Her features were 
a very little too long and thin for perfect beauty ; but they 
gave her a Madonna-like look of peace and calm which 
many were ready enthusiastically to admire. And there 
was no want of expression in her face ; its faint rose bloom 
varied almost at a word, and the thin curved lips were as 
sensitive to feeling as could be desired. What was want- 
ing in the face was what gave it its peculiar maidenly 
charm — a lack of passion, a little lack, perhaps, of strength. 
But at seventeen we look less for these characteristics 
than for the sweetness and docility which Margaret 
certainly possessed. Her dress of soft, white muslin was 
quite simple — the ideal dress for a young girl — and yet it 
was so beautifully made, so perfectly finished in every 
detail, that Miss Polehampton never looked at it without 
an uneasy feeling that she was too well-dressed for a school- 
girl. Others wore muslin dresses of apparently the same 
cut and texture ; but what the casual eye might fail to 
observe, the schoolmistress was perfectly well aware of, 
namely, that the tiny frills at neck and wrists were of the 
costliest Mechlin lace, that the hem of the dress was 
bordered with the same material, as if it had been the 
commonest of things ; that the embroidered white ribbons 
with which it was trimmed had been woven in France 
especially for Miss Adair, and that the little silver buckles 
at her waist and on her shoes were so ancient and beautiful 
as to be of almost historic importance. The effect was 
that of simplicity ; but it was the costly simplicity of 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


7 


absolute perfection. Margaret’s mother was never content 
unless her child was clothed from head to foot in materials 
of the softest, finest and best. It was a sort of outward 
symbol of what she desired for the girl in all relations of 
life. 

This it was that disturbed Miss Polehampton’s mind as 
she stood and looked uneasily for a moment at Margaret 
Adair. Then she took the girl by the hand. 

“ Sit down, my dear,” she said, in a kind voice, “and 
let me talk to you for a few moments. I hope you are not 
tired with standing so long.” 

“ Oh, no, thank you ; not at all,” Margaret answered, 
blushing slightly as she took a seat at Miss Polehampton’s 
left hand. She was more intimidated by this unwonted 
kindness of address than by any imaginable severity. 
The schoolmistress was tall and imposing in appearance : 
her manner was usually a little pompous, and it did not 
seem quite natural to Margaret that she should speak so 
gently. 

“My dear,” said Miss Polehampton, “when your dear 
mamma gave you into my charge, I am sure she considered 
me responsible for the influences under which you were 
brought, and the friendships that you made under my 
roof.” 

“ Mamma knew that I could not be hurt by any friend- 
ship that I made here” said Margaret, with the softest 
flattery. She was quite sincere : it was natural to her to 
say “ pretty things ” to people. 

“ Quite so,” the schoolmistress admitted. “ Quite so, 
dear Margaret, if you keep within your own grade in society. 
There is no pupil in this establishment, I am thankful to 
say, who is not of suitable family and prospects to become 
your friend. You are young yet, and do not understand 
the complications in which people sometimes involve them- 
selves by making friendships out of their own sphere. 
But / understand, and I wish to caution you.” 

“ I am not aware that I have made any unsuitable friend- 
ships,” said Margaret, with a rather proud look in her hazel 
eyes. 

“ Well — no, I hope not,” said Miss Polehampton 'with 
a hesitating little cough. “ You understand, my dear, 
that in an establishment like mine, persons must be em- 
ployed to do certain work who are not quite equal in 


8 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


position to — to — ourselves. Persons of inferior birth and 
station, I mean, to whom the care of the younger girls, 
and certain menial duties, must be committed. These 
persons, my dear, with whom you must necessarily be 
brought in contact, and whom I hope you will always treat 
with perfect courtesy and consideration, need not, at the 
same time, be made your intimate friends.” 

“ I have never made friends with any of the servants,” 
said Margaret, quietly. Miss Polehampton was somewhat 
irritated by this remark. 

“ I do not allude to the servants,” she said with mo- 
mentary sharpness. “ I do not consider Miss Colwyn a 
servant, or I should not, of course, allow her to sit at the 
same table with you. But there is a sort of familiarity of 
which I do not altogether approve ” 

She paused, and Margaret drew up her head and spoke 
with unusual decision. 

“ Miss Colwyn is my greatest friend.” 

“ Yes, my dear, that is what I complain of. Could you 
not find a friend in your own rank of life without making 
one of Miss Colwyn ? ” 

“ She is quite as good as I am,” cried Margaret, indig- 
nantly. “ Quite as good, far more so, and a great deal 
cleverer ! ” 

“ She has capabilities,” said the schoolmistress, with the 
air of one making a concession ; “ and I hope that they 
will be useful to her in her calling. She will probably 
become a nursery governess, or companion to some lady 
of superior position. But I cannot believe, my dear that 
dear Lady Caroline would approve of your singling her 
out as your especial and particular friend.” 

“ I am sure mamma always likes people who are good 
and clever,” said Margaret. She did not fly into a rage 
as some girls would have done, but her face flushed, and 
her breath came more quickly than usual — signs of great 
excitement on her part, which Miss Polehampton was not 
slow to observe. 

“ She likes them in their proper station, my dear. This 
friendship is not improving for you, nor for Miss Colwyn. 
Your positions in life are so different that your notice of 
her can but cause discontent and ill-feeling in her mind. 
It is exceedingly injudicious, and I cannot think that your 
dear mamma would approve of it if she knew the circum- 
stances.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


9 


“ But Janetta’s family is not at all badly connected,” 
said Margaret, with some eagerness. “ There are cousins 
of hers living close to us — the next property belongs to 
them ” 

“ Do you know them, my dear? ” 

“ I know about them,” answered Margaret, suddenly 
coloring very deeply, and looking uncomfortable, “ but I 
don’t think I have ever seen them, they are so much away 
from home ” 

“I know about them, too,” said Miss Polehampton, 
grimly ; “ and I do not think that you will ever advance 
Miss Colwyn’s interests by mentioning her connection 
with that family. I have heard Lady Caroline speak of 
Mrs. Brand and her children. They are not people, my 
dear Margaret, whom it is desirable for you to know.” 

“ But Janetta’s own people live quite near us,” said 
Margaret, reduced to a very pleading tone. “ I know them 
at home ; they live at Beaminster — not three miles off.” 

“ And may I ask if Lady Caroline visjts them, my dear ? ” 
asked Miss Polehampton, with mild sarcasm, which brought 
the color again to Margaret’s fair face. The girl could not 
answer ; she knew well enough that Janetta’s step-mother 
was not at all the sort of person whom Lady Caroline 
Adair would willingly speak to, and yet she did not like 
to say that her acquaintance with Janetta had only been 
made at a Beaminster dancing class. Probably Miss 
Polehampton divined the fact. “ Under the circum- 
stances,” she said, “ I think I should be justified in wri- 
ting to Lady Caroline and asking her to remonstrate a 
little with you, my dear Margaret. Probably she would 
be better able to make you understand the impropriety of 
your behavior than I can do.” 

The tears rose to Margaret’s eyes. She was not used 
to being rebuked in this manner. 

“But — I don’t know, Miss Polehampton, what you 
want me to do,” she said, more nervously than usual. “ I 
can’t give up Janetta ; I can’t possibly avoid speaking to 
her, you know, even if I wanted to ” 

“ I desire nothing of the sort, Margaret. Be kind and 
polite to her, as usual. But let me suggest that you do 
not make a companion of her in the garden so constantly 
— that you do not try to sit beside her in class or look 
over the same book. I will speak to Miss Colwyn herself 
about it. I think X can make her understand.” 


IO 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ Oh, please do not speak to Janetta ! I quite understand 
already,” said Margaret, growing pale with distress. 
“ You do not know how kind and good she has always 
been to me ” 

Sobs choked her utterance, rather to Miss Polehampton’s 
alarm. She did not like to see her girls cry — least of all, 
Margaret Adair. 

“ My dear, you have no need to excite yourself. Janetta 
Colwyn has always been treated, I hope, with justice and 
kindness in this house. If you will endeavor only to make 
her position in life less instead of more difficult, you will 
be doing her the greatest favor in your power. I do not 
at all mean that I wish you to be unkind to her. A little 
more reserve, a little more caution, in your demeanor, and 
you will be all that I have ever wished you to be — a credit 
to your parents and to the school which has educated 
you ! ” 

This sentiment was so effusive that it stopped Marga- 
ret’s tears out of sheer amazement ; and when she had 
said good-night and gone to bed, Miss Polehampton stood 
for a moment or two quite still, as if to recover frcm the 
unwonted exertion of expressing an affectionate emotion. 
It was perhaps a reaction against it that caused her almost 
immediately to ring the bell a trifle sharply, and to say — 
still sharply — to the maid who appeared in answer. 

“ Send Miss Colwyn to me.” 

Five minutes elapsed before Miss Colwyn came, how- 
ever, and the schoolmistress had had time to grow impa- 
tient. 

“ Why did you not come at once when I sent for you? ” 
she said, severely, as soon as Janetta presented herself. 

“ I was going to bed,” said the girl, quicklv ; “ and I had 
to dress myself again.” 

The short, decided accents grated on Miss Pole- 
hampton’s ear. Miss Colwyn did not speak half so “ nicely, u 
she said to herself, as did dear Margaret Adair. 

“ I have been talking to Miss Adair about you,” saifr 
the schoolmistress, coldly. “ I have been telling her, as 
I now tell you, that the difference in your positions makes 
your present intimacy very undesirable. I wish you to 
understand, henceforward, that Miss Adair is not to walk 
with you in the garden, not to sit beside you in class, not 
to associate with you, as she has hitherto done, on equal 
terms.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


IT 


“ Why should we not associate on equal terms ? ” said 
Janetta. She was a black-browed girl, with a clear olive 
skin, and her eyes flashed and her cheeks glowed with 
indignation as she spoke. 

“ You are not equals,” said Miss Polehampton, with icy 
displeasure in her tone — she had spoken very differently to 
Margaret. “ You have to work for your bread : there is no 
disgrace in that, but it puts you on a different level from that 
of Miss Margaret Adair, an earl’s grand-daughter, and the 
only child of one of the richest commoners in England. I 
have never before reminded you of the difference in posi- 
tion between yourself and the young ladies with whom you 
have hitherto been allowed to associate ; and I really think I 
shall have to adopt another method — unless you conduct 
yourself, Miss Colwyn, with a little more modesty and 
propriety.” 

11 May I ask what your other method would be ? ” asked 
Miss Colwyn, with perfect self-possession. 

Miss Polehampton looked at her for a moment in 
silence. 

“ To begin with,” she said, “ I could order the meals 
differently, and request you to take yours with the younger 
children, and in other ways cut you off from the society of 
the young ladies. And if this failed, I could signify to your 
father that our arrangement was not satisfactory, and that 
it had better end at the close of this term.” 

Janetta’s eyes fell and her color faded as she heard this 
threat. It meant a good deal to her. She answered 
quickly, but with some nervousness of tone. 

“ Of course, that must be as you please, Miss Pole- 
hampton. If I do not satisfy you, I must go.” 

“You satisfy me very well except in that one respect 
However, I do not ask for any promise from you now. I 
shall observe your conduct during the next few days, and 
be guided by what I see. I have already spoken to Miss 
Adair.” 

Janetta bit her lips. After a pause, she said — 

“Is that all ? May I go now ? ” 

“ You may go,” said Miss Polehampton, with majesty ; 
and Janetta softly and slowly retired. 

But as soon as she was outside the door her demeanor 
changed. She burst into tears as she sped swiftly up the 
broad staircase, and her eyes were so blinded that she did 


12 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


not even see a white figure hovering on the landing until 
she found herself suddenly in Margaret’s arms. In 
defiance of all rules — disobedient for nearly the first time 
in her life — Margaret had waited and watched for Janetta’s 
coming ; and now, clasped as closely together as sisters, 
the two friends held a whispered colloquy on the stairs. 

“ Darling,” said Margaret, “ was she very unkind ? ” 

“ She was very horrid, but I suppose she couldn’t help 
it,” said Janetta, with a little laugh mixing itself with her 
sobs. “ We mustn’t be friends any more, Margaret.” 

“ But we will be friends — always, Janetta.” 

“We must not sit together or walk together ” 

“Janetta, I shall behave to you exactly as I have always 
done.” The gentle Margaret was in revolt. 

“ She will write to your mother, Margaret, and to my 
father.” 

“ I shall write to mine, too, and explain,” said Margaret 
with dignity. And Janetta had not the heart to whisper 
to her friend that the tone in which Miss Polehampton 
would write to Lady Caroline would differ very widely from 
the one that she would adopt to Mr. Colwyn. 


CHAPTER II. 

LADY CAROLINE’S TACTICS. 

Helmsley Court was generally considered one of the 
prettiest houses about Beaminster ; a place which was rich 
in pretty houses, being a Cathedral town situated in one 
of the most beautiful southern counties of England. The 
village of Helmsley was a picturesque little group of black 
and white cottages, with gardens full of old-fashioned 
flowers before them and meadows and woods behind. 
Helmsley Court was on slightly higher ground than the 
village, and its windows commanded an extensive View of 
lovely country bounded in the distance by a long low range 
of blue hills, beyond which, in clear days, it was said, keen 
eyes could catch a glimpse of the shining sea. The house 
itself was a very fine old building, with a long terrace 
stretching before its lower windows, and flower gardens 
which were the admiration of half the county. It had a 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


«3 


picture gallery and a magnificent hall with polished floor 
and stained windows, and all the accessories of an antique 
and celebrated mansion ; and it had also all the comfort 
and luxury that modern civilization could procure. 

It Was this latter characteristic that made “ the Court,” 
as it was commonly called, so popular. Picturesque old 
houses are sometimes draughty and inconvenient, but no 
such defects were ever allowed to exist at the Court. 
Every thing went smoothly: the servants were perfectly 
trained : the latest improvements possible were always in- 
troduced : the house was ideally luxurious. There never 
seemed to be any jar or discord : no domestic worry was 
ever allowed to reach the ears of the mistress of the house- 
hold, no cares or troubles seemed able to exist in that 
serene atmosphere. You could not even say of it that it 
was dull. For the master of the Court was a hospitable 
man, with many tastes and whims which he liked to indulge 
by having down from London the numerous friends whose 
fancies matched his own ; and his wife was a little bit of a 
fine lady who had London friends too, as well as neigh- 
bors, whom she liked to entertain. The house was seldom 
free from visitors ; and it was partly for that very reason 
that Lady Caroline Adair, being in her own way a wise 
woman, had arranged that two or three years of her 
daughter’s life should be spent at Miss Polehampton’s 
very select boarding-school at Brighton. It would be a 
great drawback to Margaret, she reflected, if her beauty 
were familiar to all the world before she came out ; and 
really, when Mr. Adair would insist on inviting his friends 
constantly to the house, it was impossible to keep the girl 
so mewed up in the schoolroom that she would not be seen 
and talked of ; and therefore it was better that she should 
go away for a time. Mr. Adair did not like the arrange- 
ment ; he was very fond of Margaret, and objected to her 
leaving home ; but Lady Caroline was gently inexorable 
and got her own way — as she generally did. 

She does not look much like the mother of the tall girl 
whom we saw at Brighton, as she sits at the head of her 
breakfast-table in the daintiest of morning gowns — a mar- 
velous combination of silk, muslin and lace and pale pink 
ribbons — with a tiny white dog reposing in her lap. She 
is a much smaller woman than Margaret, and darker in 
complexion : it is from her, however, that Margaret inhe- 


14 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


rits the large, appealing hazel eyes, which look at you with 
an infinite sweetness, while their owner is perhaps think- 
ing of the me?iu or her milliner’s bill. Lady Caroline’s 
face is thin and pointed, but her complexion is still clear, 
and her soft brown hair is very prettily arranged. As she 
sits with her back to the light, with a rose-colored curtain 
behind her, just tinting her delicate cheek (for Lady Caro- 
line is always careful of appearance), she looks quite a 
young woman still. 

It is Mr. Adair whom Margaret most resembles. He is 
a tall and exceedingly handsome man, whose hair and 
moustache and pointed beard were as golden once as 
Margaret’s soft tresses, but are now toned down by a little 
grey. He has the alert blue eyes that generally go with 
his fair complexion, and his long limbs are never still for 
many minutes together. His daughter’s tranquillity seems 
to have come from her mother ; certainly it cannot be 
inherited from the restless Reginald Adair. 

The third person present at the breakfast-table — and, for 
the time being, the only visitor in the house — is a young 
man of seven or eight-and-twenty, tall, dark, and very 
spare, with a coal-black beard trimmed to a point, earnest 
dark eyes, and a remarkably pleasant and intelligent 
expression. He is not exactly handsome, but he has a 
face that attracts one ; it is the face of a man who has 
quick perceptions, great kindliness of heart, and a refined 
and cultured mind. Nobody is more popular in that 
county than young Sir Philip Ashley, although his neigh- 
bors grumble sometimes at his absorption in scientific and 
philanthropic objects, and think that it would be more 
creditable to them if he went out with the hounds a little 
oftener or were a rather better shot. For, being short- 
sighted, he was never particularly fond either of sport or 
of games of skill, and his interest had always centred on 
intellectual pursuits to a degree that amazed the more 
countrified squires of the neighborhood. 

The post-bag was brought in while breakfast was pro- 
ceeding, and two or three letters were laid before Lady 
Caroline, who, with a careless word of apology, opened 
and read them in turn. She smiled as she put them down 
and looked at her husband. 

“ This is a novel experience,” she said. “ For the first 
time in our lives, Reginald, here is a formal complaint of 
our Margaret.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


*5 


Sir Philip looked up somewhat eagerly, and Mr. Adair 
elevated his eyebrows, stirred his coffee, and laughed 
aloud. 

“ Wonders will never cease,” he said. “ It is rather refresh- 
ing to hear that our immaculate Margaret has done some- 
thing naughty. What is it, Caroline ? Is she habitually late 
for breakfast ? A touch of unpunctuality is the only fault 
I ever heard of, and that, I believe, she inherits from 
me.” 

“ I should be sorry to think that she was immaculate,” 
said Lady Caroline, calmly, “ it has such an uncomfort- 
able sound. But Margaret is generally, I must say, a 
very tractable child.” 

“ Do you mean that her schoolmistress does not find 
her tractable ? ” said Mr. Adair, with amusement. “ What 
has she been doing ? ” 

“ Nothing very bad. Making friends with a governess- 
pupil, or something of that sort ” 

“ Just what a generous-hearted girl would be likely to 
do ! ” exclaimed Sir Philip, with a sudden warm lighting of 
his dark eyes. 

Lady Caroline smiled at him. “ The schoolmistress 
thinks this girl an unsuitable friend for Margaret, and 
wants me to interfere,” she said. 

“ Pray do nothing of the sort,” said Mr. Adair. “ I 
would trust my Pearl’s instinct anywhere. She. would 
never make an unsuitable friend ! ” 

“ Margaret has written to me herself,” said Lady Caro- 
line. “ She seems unusually excited about the matter. 

1 Dear mother,’ she writes, 1 pray interpose to prevent Miss 
Polehampton from doing an unjust and ungenerous thing. 
She disapproves of my friendship with dear Janetta Colwyn, 
simply because Janetta is poor ; and she threatens to 
punish Janetta — not me — by sending her home in disgrace. 
Janetta is a governess-pupil here, and it would be a great 
trouble to her if she were sent away. I hope that you 
would rather take me away than let such an injustice be 
done.’ ” 

u My Pearl hits the nail on the head exactly,” said Mr. 
Adair, with complacency. He rose as he spoke, and began 
to walk about the room. “ She is quite old enough to 
come home, Caroline. It is June now, and the term ends 
in July. Fetch her home, and invite the little governess 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


I 6 

too, and you will soon see whether or no she is the right 
sort of friend for Margaret.” He laughed in his mellow, 
genial way, and leaned against the mantel-piece, stroking 
his yellow moustache and glancing at his wife. 

“ I am not sure that that would be advisable,” said Lady 
Caroline, with her pretty smile. “ Janetta Colwyn : 
Colwyn ? Did not Margaret know her before she went 
to school ? Are there not some Colwyns at Beaminster ? 
The doctor — yes, I remember him ; don’t you, Regi- 
nald ? ” 

Mr. Adair shook his head, but Sir Philip looked up 
hastily 

“ I know him — a struggling man with a large family. 
His first wife was rather well-connected, I believe : at any 
rate she was related to the Brands of Brand Hall. He 
married a second time after her death.” 

“ Do you call that being well-connected, Philip? ” said 
Lady Caroline, with gentle reproach ; while Mr. Adair 
laughed and whistled, but caught himself up immediately 
and apologized. 

“ I beg pardon — I forgot where I was : the less any of 
us have to do with the Brands of Brand Hall the better, 
Phil.” 

“ I know nothing of them,” said Sir Philip, rather 
gravely. 

“ Nor anybody else ” — hastily — “ they never live at 
home, you know. So this girl is a connection of theirs ? ” 

“ Perhaps not a very suitable friend : Miss Polehampton 
may be right,” said Lady Caroline. “ I suppose I must 
go over to Brighton and see Margaret.” 

“ Bring her back with you,” said Mr. Adair, recklessly. 
“ She has had quite enough of school by this time : she is 
nearly eighteen, isn’t she? ” 

But Lady Caroline smilingly refused to decide anything 
until she had herself interviewed Miss Polehampton. She 
asked her husband to order the carriage for her at once, 
and retired to summon her maid and array herself for the 
journey. 

“You won’t go to-day, will you, Philip?” said Mr. 
Adair, almost appealingly. “ I shall be all alone, and my 
wife will not perhaps return until to-morrow — there’s no 
saying.” 

“ Thank you, I shall be most pleased to stay,” answered 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


17 


Sir Philip, cordially. After a moment’s pause, he added, 
with something very like a touch of shyness — “ I have not 
seen — your daughter since she was twelve years old.” 

“ Haven’t you ? ” said Mr. Adair, with ready interest. 
“ You don’t say so ! Pretty little girl she was then ! Didn’t 
you think so ? ” 

“ I thought her the loveliest child I had ever seen in 
all my life,” said Sir Philip, with curious devoutness of 
manner. 

He saw Lady Caroline just as she was starting for the 
train, with man and maid in attendance, and Mr. Adair 
handing her into the carriage and gallantly offering to ac- 
company her if she liked. “Not at all necessary,” said 
Lady Caroline, with an indulgent smile. “ I shall be home 
to dinner. Take care of my husband, Philip, and don’t 
let him be dull.” 

“ If they are making Margaret unhappy, be sure you 
bring her back with you,” were Mr. Adair’s last words. 
Lady Caroline gave him a kind but inscrutable little smile 
and nod as she was whirled away. Sir Philip thought to 
himself that she looked like a woman who would take her 
own course in spite of advice or recommendation from her 
husband or anybody else. 

He smiled once or twice as the day passed on at her 
parting injunction to him not to let her husband be dull. 
He had known the Adairs for many years, and had never 
known Reginald Adair dull under any circumstances. He 
was too full of interests, of “ fads,” some people called 
them, ever to be dull. He took Sir Philip round the 
picture-gallery, round the stables, to the kennels, to the 
flower-garden, to his own studio (where he painted in oils 
when he had nothing else to do) with never-flagging energy 
and animation. Sir Philip’s interests lay in different 
grooves, but he was quite capable of sympathizing with 
Mr. Adair’s interests, too. The day passed pleasantly, 
and seemed rather short for all that the two men wanted 
to pack into it ; although from time to time Mr. Adair 
would say, half-impatiently, “ I wonder how Caroline is 
getting on ! ” or “I hope she’ll bring Margaret back with 
her ! But I don’t expect it, you know. Carry was always 
a great one for education and that sort of thing.” 

“ Is Miss Adair intellectual — too ? ” asked Sir Philip, 
with respect. 


2 


i8 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


Mr. Adair broke into a sudden laugh. “ Intellectual ? 
Our Daisy? — our Pearl?” he said. “Wait until you see j 
her, then ask the question if you like.” 

“ I am afraid I don’t quite understand.” 

“ Of course you don’t. It is the partiality of a fond 1 
father that speaks, my dear fellow. I only meant that | 
these young, fresh, pretty girls put such questions out of 
one’s head.” 

“She must be very pretty then,” said Sir Philip, with a 1 
smile. 

He had seen a great many beautiful women, and told ] 
himself that he did not care for beauty. Fashionable, j 
talkative women were his abomination. He had no sisters, J 
but he loved his mother very dearly ; and upon her he j 
had founded a very high ,ideal of womanhood. He had 
begun to think vaguely, of late, that he ought to marry : 
duty demanded it of him, and Sir Philip was always atten- 
tive, if not obedient, to the voice of duty. But he was not ! 
inclined to marry a girl out of the schoolroom, or a girl 1 
who was accustomed to the enervating luxury (as he con- j 
sidered it) of Helmsley Court : he wanted an energetic, I 
sensible, large-hearted, and large-minded woman who ; 
would be his right hand, his first minister of state. Sir 
Philip was fairly wealthy, but by no means enormously 
so ; and he had other uses for his wealth than the buying \ 
of pictures and keeping up stables and kennels at an l 
alarming expense. If Miss Adair were so pretty, he < 
mused, it was just as well that she was not at home, for, 
of course, it was possible that he might find a lovely face j 
an attraction : and much as he liked Lady Caroline, he | 
did not want particularly to marry Lady Caroline’s j] 
daughter. That she treated him with great consideration, 
and that he had once overheard her speak of him as “ the 
most eligible parti of the neighborhood,” had already put 1 
him a little on his guard. Lady Caroline was no vulgar, 1 
match-making mother, he knew that well enough ; but she j 
was in some respects a thoroughly worldly woman, and 
Philip Ashley was an essentially unworldly man. 

As he went upstairs to dress for dinner that evening, he 
was struck by the fact that a door stood open that he had 
never seen opened before : a door into a pretty, well- 
lighted, pink and white room, the ideal apartment for a 
young girl. The evening was chilly, and rain had begun . 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


19 


to fall, so a bright little fire was burning in the steel grate, 
and casting a cheerful glow over white sheepskin rugs and 
rose-colored curtains. A maid seemed to be busying 
herself with some white material — all gauze and lace it 
looked — and another servant was, as Sir Philip passed, 
entering with a great white vase filled with red roses. 
“ Do they expect visitors to-night ? ” thought the young 
man, who knew enough of the house to be aware that the 
room was not one in general use. “ Adair said nothing 
about it, but perhaps some people are coming from town.” 

A budget of letters was brought to him at that moment, 
and in reading and answering them he did not note the 
sound of carriage-wheels on the drive, nor the bustle 
of an arrival in the house. Indeed, he left himself so 
little time that he had to dress in extraordinary haste, and 
went downstairs at last in the conviction that he was 
unpardonably late. 

But apparently he was wrong. 

For the drawing-room was tenanted by one figure only 
— that of a young lady in evening dress. Neither Lady 
Caroline nor Mr. Adair had appeared upon the scene ; but 
on the hearthrug, by the small crackling fire — which, in 
deference to the chilliness of an English June evening, had 
been lighted — stood a tall, fair, slender girl, with pale 
complexion, and soft, loosely-coiled masses of golden hair.' 
She was dressed in pure white, a soft loose gown of Indian 
silk, trimmed with the most delicate lace : it was high to 
the milk-white throat, but showed the rounded curves of 
the finely-moulded arm to the elbow. She wore no orna- 
ments, but a white rose was fastened into the lace frill of 
her dress at her neck. As she turned her face towards 
the new comer, Sir Philip suddenly felt himself abashed. 
It was not that she was so beautiful — in those first few 
moments he scarcely thought her beautiful at all — but that 
she produced on him an impression of serious, virginal 
grace and innocence which was almost disconcerting. 
Her pure complexion, her grave, serene eyes, her graceful 
way of moving as she advanced a little to receive him 
stirred him to more than admiration — to something not 
unlike awe. She looked young ; but it was youth in per- 
fection : there was some marvelous finish, delicacy, polish, 
which one does not usually associate with extreme youth. 

“You are Sir Philip Ashley, I think?” she said, offer- 


20 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


ing him her slim cool hand without embarrassment. 
“ You do not remember me, perhaps, but I remember you 
perfectly well. I am Margaret Adair.” 


CHAPTER III. 

AT HELMSLEY COURT. 

“ Lady Caroline has brought you back, then ? ” said Sir 
Philip, after his first pause of astonishment. 

“ Yes,” said Margaret, serenely. “ I have been ex- 
pelled.” 

“ Expelled ! You ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, I have,” said the girl, with a faintly 
amused little smile. “ And so has my great friend, Janetta 
Colwyn. Here she is : Janetta, I am telling Sir Philip 
Ashley that we have been expelled, and he will not believe 
me.” 

Sir Philip turned in some curiosity to see the girl of 
whom he had heard for the first time that morning. He 
had not noticed before that she was present. He saw a 
brown little creature, with eyes that had been swollen with 
crying until they were well-nigh invisible, small, unremark- 
able features, and a mouth that was inclined to quiver. 
Margaret might afford to be serene, but to this girl expul- 
sion from school had evidently been a sad trouble. He 
threw all the more kindness and gentleness into his voice 
and look as he spoke to her. 

Janetta might have felt a little awkward if she had not 
been so entirely absorbed by her own woes. She had 
never set foot before in half so grand a house as this of 
Helmsley Court, nor had she ever dined late or spoken to 
a gentleman in an evening coat in all her previous life. 
The size and the magnificence of the room would perhaps 
have oppressed her if she had been fully aware of them. 
But she was for the moment very much wrapped up in her 
own affairs, and scarcely stopped to think of the novel 
situation in which she found herself. The only thing that 
had startled her was the attention paid to her dress by 
Margaret and Margaret’s maid. Janetta would have put 
on her afternoon black cashmere and little silver brooch, 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


21 


and would have felt herself perfectly well dressed ; but 
Margaret, after a little consultation with the very grand 
young person who condescended to brush Miss Colwyn’s 
hair, had herself brought to Janetta’s room a dress of black 
lace over cherry-colored silk, and had begged her to put it 
on. 

11 You will feel so hot downstairs if you don’t put on 
something cool,” Margaret had said. “ There is a fire in 
the drawing-room : papa likes the rooms warm. My 
dresses would not have fitted you, I am so much taller 
than you; but mamma is just your height, and although 

you are thinner perhaps But I don’t know : the dress 

fits you perfectly. Look in the glass, Janet ; you are quite 
splendid.” 

Janetta looked and blushed a little — not because she 
thought herself at all splendid, but because the dress 
showed her neck and arms in a way no dress had ever 
done before. “ Ought it to be — open — like this ? ” she 
said, vaguely. “ Do you wear your dresses like this when 
you are at home ? ” 

“ Mine are high,” said Margaret. “ I am not ' out,’ you 
know. But you are older than I, and you used to teach 

I think we may consider that you are 1 out,’ ” she 

added, with a little laugh. “ You look very nice, Janetta : 
you have such pretty arms ! Now I must go and dress, 
and I will call for you when I am ready to go down.” 

Janetta felt decidedly doubtful as to whether she were 
not a great deal too grand for the occasion ; but she altered 
her mind when she saw Margaret’s dainty silk and lace, 
and Lady Caroline’s exquisite brocade ; and she felt her- 
self quite unworthy to take Mr. Adair’s offered arm when 
dinner was announced and her host politely convoyed her 
to the dining-room. "She wondered whether he knew that 
she was only a little governess-pupil, and whether he was 
not angry with her for being the cause of his daughter’s 
abrupt departure from school. As a matter of fact, Mr. 
Adair knew her position exactly, and was very much amused 
by the whole affair ; also, as it had procured him the 
pleasure of his daughter’s return home, he had an illogical 
inclination to be pleased also with Janetta. “ As Marga- 
ret is so fond of her, there must be something in her,” he 
said to himself, with a critical glance at the girl’s delicate 
features and big dark eyes. “ I’ll draw her out at dinner.” 


22 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


He tried his best, and made himself so agreeable and 
amusing that Janetta lost a good deal of her shyness, and 
forgot her troubles. She had a quick tongue of her own, 
as everybody at Miss Polehampton’s was aware ; and she 
soon found that she had not lost it. She was a good deal 
surprised to find that not a word was said at the dinner 
table about the cause of Margaret’s return : in her own 
home it would have been the subject of the evening ; it 
would have been discussed from every point of view, and 
she would probably have been reduced to tears before the 
first hour was over. But here it was evident that the 
matter was not considered of great importance. Margaret 
looked serene as ever, and joined quietly in talk which was 
alarmingly unlike Miss Polehampton’s improving conver- 
sation : talk about county gaieties and county magnates : 
gossip about neighbors — gossip of a harmless although 
frivolous type, for Lady Caroline never allowed any talk at 
her table that was anything but harmless, about fashions, 
about old china, about music and art. Mr. Adair was 
passionately fond of music, and when he found that 
Miss Colywn really knew something of it he was in his 
element. They discoursed of fugues, sonatas, concertos, 
quartettes, and trios, until even Lady Caroline raised 
her eyebrows a little at the very technical nature of the 
conversation ; and Sir Philip exchanged a congratulatory 
smile with Margaret over her friend’s success. For the 
delight of finding a congenial spirit had brought the crim- 
son into Janetta’s olive cheeks and the brilliance to her 
dark eyes : she had looked insignificant when she went in 
to dinner; she was splendidly handsome at dessert. Mr. 
Adair noticed her flashing, transitory beauty, and said to 
himself th,at Margaret’s taste was unimpeachable ; it was 
just like his own ; he had complete confidence in Marga- 
ret. 

When the ladies went back to the drawing-room, Sir 
Philip turned with a look of only half-disguised curiosity 
to his host. “ Lady Caroline brought her back then ? ” 
he said, longing to ask questions, yet hardly knowing how 
to frame them aright. 

Mr. Adair gave a great laugh. “ It’s been the oddest 
thing I ever heard of,” he said, in a tone of enjoyment. 
“ Margaret takes a fancy to that little black-eyed girl — a 
nice little thing, too, don’t you think? — and nothing must 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


2 3 


serve but that her favorite must walk with her, sit by her, 
and so on — you know the romantic way girls have ? The 
schoolmistress interfered, said it was not proper, and so on ; 
forbade it. Miss Colwyn would have obeyed, it seems, 
but Margaret took the bit in a quiet way between her teeth. 
Miss Colwyn was ordered to take her meals at a side table : 
Margaret insisted on taking her meals there too. The 
school was thrown into confusion. At last Miss Polehamp- 
ton decided that the best way out of the difficulty was first 
to complain to us, and then to send Miss Colwyn home, 
straight away. She would not send Margaret home, you 
know ! ” 

“ That was very hard on Miss Colwyn,” said Sir Philip, 
gravely. 

“ Yes, horribly hard. So Margaret, as you heard, 
appealed to her mother, and when Lady Caroline arrived, 
she found that not only were Miss Colwyn’s boxes packed, 
but Margaret’s as well ; and that Margaret had declared 
that if her friend was sent away for what was after all tier 
fault, she would not stay an hour in the house. Miss Pole- 
hampton was weeping : the girls were in revolt, the teach- 
ers in despair, so my wife thought the best way out of the 
difficulty was to bring both girls away at once, and settle 
it with Miss Colwyn’s relations afterwards. The joke is 
that Margaret insists on it that she has been ‘ expelled.’ ” 

“ So she told me.” 

“ The schoolmistress said something of that kind, you 
know. Caroline says the woman entirely lost her temper 
and made an exhibition of herself. Caroline was glad to 
get our girl away. But, of course, it’s all nonsense about 
being 1 expelled ’ as a punishment ; she was leaving of her 
own accord.” 

“ One could hardly imagine punishment in connection 
with her,” said Sir Philip, warmly. 

“ No, she’s a nice-looking girl, isn’t she? and her little 
friend is a good foil, poor little thing.” 

“ This affair may prove of some serious inconvenience 
to Miss Colwyn, I suppose?” 

“ Oh, you may depend upon it, she won’t be the loser,” 
said Mr. Adair, hastily. “ We’ll see about that. Of course 
she will not suffer any injury through my daughter’s friend- 
ship for her.” 

Sir Philip was not so sure about it. In spite of his 


24 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


intense admiration for Margaret’s beauty, it occurred to 
him that the romantic partisanship of the girl with beauty, 
position, and wealth for her less fortunate sister had not 
been attended with very brilliant results. No doubt Miss 
Adair, reared in luxury and indulgence, did not in the 
least realize the harm done to the poor governess-pupil’s 
future by her summary dismissal from Miss Polehampton’s 
boarding-school. To Margaret, anything that the school- 
mistress chose to say or do mattered little; to Janetta 
Colwyn, it might some day mean prosperity or adversity 
of a very serious kind. Sir Philip did not quite believe in 
the compensation so easily promised by Mr. Adair. He 
made a mental note of Miss Colwyn’s condition and pros- 
pects, and said to himself that he would not forget her. 
And this meant a good deal from a busy man like Sir 
Philip Ashley. 

Meanwhile there had been another conversation going 
on in the drawing-room between the three ladies. Mar- 
garet put her arm affectionately round Janetta’s waist as 
they stood by the hearthrug, and looked at her mother 
with a smile. Lady Caroline sank into an easy-chair on 
the other side of the fireplace, and contemplated the two 
girls. 

“ This is better than Claremont House, is it not, Janet ?” 
said Margaret. 

“ Indeed it is,” Janetta answered, gratefully. 

“ You found the way to papa’s heart by your talk about 
music — did she not, mamma ? And does not this dress 
suit her beautifully ? ” 

“It wants a little alteration in the sleeve,’ 1 said Lady 
Caroline, with the placidity which Janetta had always 
attributed to Margaret as a special virtue, but which she 
now found was merely characteristic of the house and 
family in general, “ but Markham can do that to-morrow. 
There are some people coming in the evening, and the 
sleeve will look better shortened.” 

The remark sounded a little inconsequent in Janetta’s 
ear, but Margaret understood and assented. It meant 
that Lady Caroline was on the whole pleased with Janetta, 
and did not object to introducing her to her friends. 
Margaret gave her mother a little smile over Janetta’s 
head, while that young person was gathering up her cour- 
age in two hands, so to speak, before addressing Lady 
Caroline. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


25 


“ I am very much obliged to you,” she said at last, with 
a thrill of gratitude in her sweet voice which was very 
pleasant to the ear. “ But — I was thinking — what time 
would be the most convenient for me to go home to- 
morrow? ” 

“ Home ? To Beaminster ? ” said Margaret. “ But you 
need not go, dear ; you can write a note and tell them 
that you are staying here.” 

“ Yes, my dear ; I am sure Margaret cannot part with 
you yet,” said Lady Caroline, amiably. 

“ Thank you ; it is most kind of you,” Janetta answered, 
her voice shaking. “ But I must ask my father whether I 
can stay — and hear what he says ; Miss Polehampton will 
have written to him, and ” 

“ And he will be very glad that we have rescued you 
from her clutches,” said Margaret, with a soft triumphant 
little laugh. “ My poor Janetta ! What we suffered at 
her hands ! ” 

Lady Caroline lying back in her easy chair, with the 
candle light gleaming upon her silvery grey and white bro- 
cade with its touches of soft pink, and the diamonds flash- 
ing on her white hands, so calmly crossed upon the handle 
of her ivory fan, did not feel quite so tranquil as she 
looked. It crossed her mind that Margaret was acting 
inconsiderately. This little Miss Colwyn had her living to 
earn ; it would be no kindness to unfit her for her pro- 
fession. So, when she spoke it was with a shade more 
decision than usual in her tones. 

“ We will drive you over to Beaminster to-morrow, my 
dear Miss Colwyn, and you can then see your family, and 
ask your father if you may spend a few days with Margaret. 
I do not think that Mr. Colwyn will refuse us,” she said, 
graciously. “ I wonder when those men are coming, 
Margaret. Suppose you open the piano and let us have a 
little music. You sing, do you not? ” 

“ Yes, a little,” said Janetta. 

“ A little ! ” exclaimed Margaret, with contempt. “ She 
has a delightful voice, mamma. Come and sing at once, 
Janetta, darling, and astonish mamma.” 

Lady Caroline smiled. She had heard a great many 
singers in her day, and did not expect to be astonished. 
A little governess-pupil, an under-teacher in a boarding- 
school ! Dear Margaret’s enthusiasm certainly carried 
her away. 


26 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


But when Janetta sang, Lady Caroline was, after all, 
rather surprised. The girl had a remarkably sweet and 
rich contralto voice, and it had been well trained ; and, 
moreover, she sang with feeling and passion which were 
somewhat unusual in one so young. It seemed as if some 
hidden power, some latent characteristic came out in her 
singing because it found no other way of expressing itself. 
Neither Lady Caroline nor Margaret understood why 
Janetta’s voice moved them so much ; Sir Philip, who 
came in with his host while the music was going on, heard 
and was charmed also without quite knowing why ; it 
was Mr. Adair alone whose musical knowledge and ex- 
perience of the world enabled him, feather-headed as in 
some respects he was, to lay his finger directly on the 
salient features of Janetta’s singing. 

“ It’s not her voice altogether, you know,” he said after- 
wards to Philip Ashley, in a moment of confidence; “it’s 
soul. She’s got more of that commodity than is good for 
a woman. It makes her singing lovely, you know — brings 
tears into one’s eyes, and all that sort of thing — but upon 
my honor I’m thankful that Margaret hasn’t got a voice 
like that ! It’s women of that kind that are'either heroines 
of virtue — or go to the devil. They are always in ex- 
tremes.” 

“ Then we may promise ourselves some excitement in 
watching Miss Colwyn’s career,” said Sir Philip, dryly. 

After Janetta, Margaret sang ; she had a sweet mezzo- 
soprano voice, of no great strength or compass, but per- 
fectly trained and very pleasing to the ear. The sort 
of voice, Sir Philip thought, that would be soothing to the 
nerves of a tired man in his own house. Whereas, Janetta’s 
singing had something impassioned in it which disturbed 
and excited instead of soothing. But he was quite ready 
to admire when Margaret called on him for admiration. 
They were sitting together on a sofa, and Janetta, who 
had just finished one of her songs, was talking to, or being 
talked to, by Mr. Adair. Lady Caroline had taken up a 
review. 

“ Is not Miss Colwyn’s voice perfectly lovely ? ” Mar- 
garet asked, with shining eyes. 

“ It is very sweet.” 

“ Don’t you think she looks very nice ? ” — Margaret 
was hungering for admiration of her friend. 


A TRUE FRIEND, 


27 

“She is a very pretty girl. You are very fond of each 
other ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, devoted. I am so glad I succeeded ! ” said the 
girl, with a great sigh. 

“ In getting her away from the school ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ You think it was for her good ? ” 

Margaret opened her lovely eyes. 

“ For her good ? — to come here instead of staying in 
that close uncomfortable house to give music lessons, and 

bear Miss Polehampton’s snubs? ” It had evidently 

never occurred to her that the change could be any- 
thing but beneficial to Janetta. 

“ It is very pleasant for her, no doubt,” said Sir Philip, 
smiling in spite of his disapproval. “ I only wondered 
whether it was a good preparation for the life of hard 
work which probably lies before her.” 

He saw that Margaret colored, and wondered whether 
she would be offended by his suggestion. After a mo- 
ment’s pause, she answered, gravely, but quite, gently — 

“ I never thought of it in that way before, exactly. I 
want to keep her here, so that she should never have to 
work hard at all.” 

“ Would she consent to that ? ” 

“ Why not ? ” said Margaret. 

Sir Philip smiled and said no more. It was curious, he 
said to himself, to see how little conception Margaret had 
of lives unlike and outside her own. And Janetta’s brave 
but sensitive little face, with its resolute brows and lips 
and brilliant eyes, gave promise of a determination and an 
originality which, he felt convinced, would never allow her 
to become a mere plaything or appendage of a wealthy 
household, as Margaret Adair seemed to expect. But his 
words had made an impression. At night, when Lady 
Caroline and her daughter were standing in the charming 
little room which had always been appropriated to Mar- 
garet’s use, she spoke, with the unconscious habit of saying 
frankly anything that had occurred to her, of Sir Philip’s 
remarks. 

“ It was so odd,” she said ; “ Sir Philip seemed to think 
that it would be bad for Janetta to stay here, mamma. 
Why should it be bad for her, mamma, dear ? ” 

“ I don’t think it will be at all bad for her to spend a 


28 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


day or two with us, darling,” said Lady Caroline, keeping 
somewhat careful watch on Margaret’s face as she spoke. 
“ But perhaps it had better be by-and-bye. You know she 
wants to go home to-morrow, and we must not keep her 
away from her duties or her own sphere of life.” 

“ No,” Margaret answered, “ but her duties will not 
always keep her at home, you know, mamma, dear.” 

“ I suppose not, my dearest,” said Lady Caroline, 
vaguely, but in the caressing tone to which Margaret 
was accustomed. “ Go to bed, my sweetest one, and we 
will talk of all these things to-morrow.” 

Meanwhile Janetta was wondering at the luxury of the 
room which had been allotted to her, and thinking over 
the events of the past day. When a tap at the door an- 
nounced Margaret’s appearance to say good-night, Janetta 
was standing before the long looking-glass, apparently in- 
specting herself by the light of the rose-tinted wax candles 
in silver sconces which were fixed on either side of the 
mirror. She was in her dressing-gown, and her long and 
abundant hair fell over her shoulder in a great curly mass. 

“ Oh, Miss Vanity ! ” cried Margaret, with more gaiety 
of tone than was usual with her, “ are you admiring your 
pretty hair ? ” 

“ I was thinking,” said Janetta, with the intensity which 
often characterized her speech, “ that now I understood 
you — now I know why you were so different from other 
girls, so sweet, so calm and beautiful ! You have lived in 
this lovely place all your life ! It is like a fairy palace — a 
dream-house — to me ; and you are the queen of it, Mar, 
garet — a princess of dreams ! ” 

“ 1 hope I shall have something more than dreams to 
reign over some day,” said Margaret, putting her arms 
round her friend’s neck. “ And whatever I am queen over, 
you must share my queendom, Janet. You know how 
fond I am of you — how I want you to stay with me always 
and be my friend.” 

“ I shall always be your friend — always, to the last day 
of my life ! ” said Janetta, with fervor. The two made a 
pretty picture, reflected in the long mirror ; the tall, fair 
Margaret, still in her soft white silk frock, with her arm 
round the smaller figure of the dark girl whose curly 
masses of hair half covered her pink cotton dressing-gown, 
and whlse brown face was upturned so lovingly to her 
friend’s. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


29 


“And I am sure it will be good for you to stay with me,” 
said Margaret, answering an unspoken objection in her 
mind. 

“ Good for me ? It is delicious — it is lovely ! ” cried 
Janetta, rapturously. “ I have never had anything so nice 
in my whole life. Dear Margaret, you are so good and so 
kind — if there were only anything that I could do for you 
in return ! Perhaps some day I shall have the chance, 
and if ever I have — then you shall see whether I am true 
to my friend or not ! ” 

Margaret kissed her, with a little smile at Janetta’s 
enthusiasm, which was so far different from the modes of 
expression customary at Helmsley Court, as to be almost 
amusing. 


CHAPTER IV. 

ON THE ROAD. 

Miss Polehampton had, of course, written to Mr. and 
Mrs. Colwyn when she made up her mind that Janetta was 
to be removed from school ; and two or three letters had 
been interchanged before that eventful day on which 
Margaret declared that if Janetta went she should go too. 
Margaret had been purposely kept in the dark until almost 
the last moment, for Miss Polehampton did not in the 
least wish to make a scandal, and annoyed as she was by 
Miss Adair’s avowed preference for Janetta, she had ar- 
ranged a neat little plan by which Miss Colwyn was to go 
away “ for change of air,” and be transferred to a school 
at Worthing kept by a relation of her own at the beginning 
of the following term. These plans had been upset by a 
foolish and ill-judged letter from Mrs. Colwyn to her step- 
daughter, which Janetta had not been able to keep from 
Margaret’s eyes. This letter was full of reproaches to 
Janetta for giving so much trouble to her friends ; “ for, of 
course,” Mrs. Colwyn wrote, “ Miss Polehampton’s con- 
cern for your health is all a blind in order to get you 
away : and if it hadn’t been for Miss Adair taking you up, 
she would have been only too glad to keep you. But 
knowing Miss Adair’s position, she sees very clearly that 


3 ° 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


it isn’t fit for you to be friends with her, and so she wants 
to send you away.” 

This was in the main true, but Janetta, in the blithe con- 
fidence of youth, would never have discovered it but for 
that letter. Together she and Margaret consulted over it, 
for when Margaret saw Janetta crying, she almost forced 
the letter from her hand ; and then it was that Miss Adair 
vindicated her claim to social superiority. She went 
straight to Miss Polehampton and demanded that Janetta 
should remain ; and when the schoolmistress refused to 
alter her decision, she calmly replied that in that case she 
should go home too. Miss Polehampton was an obstinate 
woman, and would not concede the point ; and Lady 
Caroline, on learning the state of affairs, at once perceived 
that it was impossible to leave Margaret at the school 
where open warfare had been declared. She accordingly 
brought both girls away with her, arranging to send Janetta 
to her own home next morning. 

“You will stay to luncheon, dear, and I will drive you 
over to Beaminster at three o’clock,” she said to Janetta at 
breakfast. “No doubt you are anxious to see your own 
people.” 

Janetta looked as if she might find it difficult to reply, 
but Margaret interposed a remark — as usual at the right 
moment. 

“We will practice our duets this morning — if Janetta 
likes, that is ; and we can have a walk in the garden too. 
Shall we have the landau, mamma ? ” 

“ The victoria, I think, dear,” said Lady Caroline, 
placidly. “Your father wants you to ride with him this 
afternoon, so I shall have the pleasure of Miss Colwyn’s 
society in my drive.” 

Margaret assented ; but Janetta became suddenly aware, 
by a flash of keen feminine intuition, that Lady Caroline 
had some reason for wishing to go with her alone, and that 
she had purposely made the arrangement that she spoke 
of. However, there was nothing to displease her in this, 
for Lady Caroline had been most kind and considerate to 
her, so far, and she was innocently disposed to believe in 
the cordiality and sincerity of every one who behaved with 
common civility. 

So she spent a pleasant morning, singing with Margaret, 
loitering about the garden with Mr. Adair, while Margaret 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


31 


and Sir Philip gathered roses, and enjoying to the full all 
the sweet influences of peace, refinement, and prosperity 
by which she was surrounded. 

Margaret left her in the afternoon with rather a hasty 
kiss, and an assurance that she would see her again at 
dinner. Janetta tried to remind her that by that time she 
would have left the Court, but Margaret did not or would 
not hear. The tears came into the girl’s eyes as her friend 
disappeared. 

“ Never mind, dear,” said Lady Caroline, who was 
observing her closely, “ Margaret has forgotten at what 
hour you were going and I would not remind her — it 
would spoil her pleasure in her ride. We will arrange for 
you to come to us another day when you have seen your 
friends at home.” 

“Thank you,” said Janetta. “ It was only that she did 
not seem to remember that I was going — I had meant to 
say good-bye.” 

“ Exactly. She thinks that I am going to bring you 
back this afternoon. We will talk about it as we go, dear. 
Suppose you were to put on your hat now. The carriage 
will be here in ten minutes.” 

Janetta prepared for her departure in a somewhat bewil- 
dered spirit. She did not know precisely what Lady 
Caroline meant. She even felt a little nervous as she took 
her place in the victoria and cast a last look at the stately 
house in which she had spent some nineteen or twenty 
pleasant hours. It was Lady Caroline who spoke first. 

“ We shall miss your singing to-night,” she said, amiably. 
“ Mr. Adair was looking forward to some more duets. 
Another time, perhaps ” 

“ I am always pleased to sing,” said Janetta, brightening 
at this address. 

“ Yes — ye — es,” said Lady Caroline, with a doubtful 
little drawl. “ No doubt : one always likes to do what 
one can do so well ; but — I confess I am not so musical as 
my husband or my daughter. I must explain why dear 
Margaret did not say good bye to you, Miss Colwyn. I 
allowed her to remain in the belief that she was to see you 
again to-night, in order that she might not be depressed 
during her ride by the thought of parting with you. It is 
always my principle to make the lives of those dear to me 
as happy as possible,” said Margaret’s mother, piously. 


3 2 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ And if Margaret had been depressed during her ride, 
Mr. Adair and Sir Philip might have suffered some depres- 
sion also, and that would be a great pity.” 

“ Oh, yes,” said Janetta. But she felt chilled, without 
knowing why. 

“ I must take you into my confidence,” said Lady 
Caroline, in her softest voice. “ Mr. Adair has plans for 
our dear Margaret. Sir Philip Ashley’s property adjoins 
our own : he is of good principles, kind-hearted, and 
intellectual : he is well off, nice-looking, and of a suitable 
age — he admires Margaret very much. I need say no 
more, I am sure.” 

Again she looked keenly at Janetta’s face, but she read 
there nothing but interest and surprise. 

“ Oh — does Margaret know ? ” she asked. 

“ She feels more than she knows,” said Lady Caroline, 
discreetly. “ She is in the first stage of — of — emotion. I 
did not want the afternoon’s arrangements to be interfered 
with.” 

“ Oh, no ! especially on my account,” said Janetta, 
sincerely. 

“ When I go home I shall talk quietly to Margaret,” 
pursued Lady Caroline, “ and tell her that you will come 
back another day, that your duties called you home — they 
do, I am sure, dear Miss Colwyn — and that you could not 
return with me when you were so much wanted.” 

“ I’m afraid I am not much wanted,” said Janetta, with 
a sigh ; “ but I daresay it is my duty to go home ” 

“ I am sure it is,” Lady Caroline declared ; “ and duty 
is so high and holy a thing, dear, that you will never regret 
the performance of it.” 

It occurred dimly to Janetta at that point that Lady 
Caroline’s views of duty might possibly differ from her 
own ; but she did not venture to say so. 

“ And, of course, you will never repeat to Margaret ” 

Lady Caroline did not complete her sentence. The 
coachman suddenly checked the horses’ speed : for some 
unknown reason he actually stopped short in the very 
middle of the country road between Helmsley Court and 
Beaminster. His mistress uttered a little cry of alarm. 

“ What is the matter, Steel ? ” 

The footman dismounted and touched his hat. 

“ I’m afraid there has been an accident, my lady,” he 


A TRUE FRIEND . 33 

said, as apologetically, as if he were responsible for the 
accident. 

“ Oh ! Nothing horrible, I hope ! ” said Lady Caroline, 
drawing out her smelling-bottle. 

“ It’s a carriage accident, my lady. Leastways, a cab. 
The ’orse is lying right across the road, my lady.’' 

“ Speak to the people, Steel,” said her ladyship, with 
great dignity. “ They must not be allowed to block up 
the road in this way.” 

“May I get out? ” said Janetta, eagerly. “ There is a 
lady lying on the path, and some people bathing her face. 
Now they are lifting her up — I am sure they ought not to 
lift her up in that way — oh, please, I must go just for one 
minute ! ” And, without waiting for a reply, she stepped 
out of the victoria and sped to the side of the woman who 
had been hurt. 

“ Very impulsive and undisciplined,” said Lady Caroline 
to herself, as she leaned back and held the smelling-bottle 
to her own delicate nose. “ I am glad I have got her out 
of the house so soon. Those men were wild about her 
singing. Sir Philip disapproved of her presence, but he 
was charmed by her voice, I could see that ; and poor, 
dear Reginald was positively absurd about her voice. 
And dear Margaret does not sing so well — it is no use 
pretending that she does — and Sir Philip is trembling on 
the verge — oh, yes, I am sure that I have been very wise. 
What is that girl doing now ? ” 

The victoria moved forward a little, so that Lady Caro- 
line could obtain a clearer view of what was going on. 
The vehicle which caused the obstruction — evidently a 
hired fly from an inn — was uninjured, but the horse had 
fallen between the shafts and would never rise again. The 
occupants of the fly — a lady, and a much younger man, 
perhaps her son — had got out, and the lady had then 
turned faint, Lady Caroline heard, but was not in any 
way hurt. Janetta was kneeling by the side of the lady — 
kneeling in the dust, without any regard to the freshness 
of her cotton frock, by the way — and had already placed 
her in the right position, and was ordering the half-dozen 
people who had collected to stand back and give her air. 
Lady Caroline watched her movements and gestures with 
placid amusement, and went so far as to send Steel with 
the offer of her smelling salts ; but as this offer was 

3 


34 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


rejected she felt that nothing else could be done. So she 
sat and looked on critically. 

The woman — Lady Caroline was hardly inclined to call 
her a lady, although she did not exactly know why — was 
at present of a ghastly paleness, but her features were 
finely cut, and showed traces of former beauty. Her hair 
was grey, with rebellious waves in it, but her eyebrows 
were still dark. She was dressed in black, with a good 
deal of lace about her ; and on her ungloved hand Lady 
Caroline’s keen sight enabled her to distinguish some very 
handsome diamond rings. The effect of the costume was 
a little spoiled by a large gaudy fan, of violent rainbow 
hues, which hung at her side ; and perhaps it was this 
article of adornment which decided Lady Caroline in her 
opinion of the woman’s social status. But about the man 
she was equally positive in a different way. He was a 
gentleman : there could be no doubt of that. She put up 
her eyeglass and gazed at him with interest. She almost 
thought that she had seen him somewhere before. 

A handsome man, indeed, and a gentleman ; but, oh, 
what an ill-tempered one, apparently ! He was dark, with 
fine features, and black hair with a slight inclination to 
wave or curl (as far at least as could be judged when the 
extremely well-cropped state of his head was taken into 
consideration) ; and from these indications Lady Caroline 
judged him to be “ the woman’s ” son. He was tall, 
muscular, and active looking ; it was the way in which his 
black eyebrows were bent above his eyes which made the 
observer think him ill-tempered, for his manner and his 
words expressed anxiety, not anger. But that frown, which 
must have been habitual, gave him a distinctly ill-humored 
look. 

At last the lady opened her eyes, and drank a little 
water, and sat up. Janetta rose from her knees, and turned 
to the young man with a smile. “ She will soon be better 
now,” she said. “ I am afraid there is nothing else that I 
can do — and I think I must go on.” 

“ I am very much obliged to you for your kind assist- 
ance,” said the gentleman, but without any abatement of 
the gloom of his expression. He gave Janetta a keen look 
— almost a bold look — Lady Caroline thought, and then 
smiled a little, not very pleasantly. “ Allow me to take 
you to your carriage.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


35 


Janetta blushed, as if she were minded to say that it was 
not her carriage ; but returned to the victoria, and was 
handed to her seat by the young man, who then raised his 
hat with an elaborate flourish which was not exactly En- 
glish. Indeed, it occurred to Lady Caroline at once that 
there was something French about both the travelers. 
The lady with the frizzled grey hair, the black lace dress 
and mantel, the gaudy blue and scarlet fan, was quite 
foreign in appearance ; the young man with the perfectly 
fitting frock-coat, the tall hat, the flower in his button-hole, 
was — in spite of his perfectly English accent — foreign too. 
Lady Caroline was cosmopolitan enough to feel an access 
of greater interest in the pair in consequence. 

“ They have sent to the nearest inn for a horse,” said 
Janetta, as the carriage moved on ; “ and I dare say they 
will not have long to wait.” 

“ Was the lady hurt ? ” 

“ No, only shaken. She is subject to fainting fits, and 
the accident quite upset her nerves, her son said.” 

<f Her son ? ” 

“ The gentleman called her mother.” 

“ Oh ! You did not hear their name, I suppose? ” 

“ No. There was a big B on their traveling bag.” 

“ B — B — ? ” said Lady Caroline, thoughtfully.' “ I don’t 
know any one in this neighborhood whose name begins 
with B, except the Bevans. They must have been merely 
passing through ; and yet the young man’s face seemed 
familiar to me.” 

Janetta shook her head. “ I never saw them before,” 
she said. 

“ He has a very bold and unpleasant expression,” Lady 
Caroline remarked, decidedly. “ It spoils him entirely : 
otherwise he is a handsome man.” 

The girl made no answer. She knew, as well as Lady 
Caroline, that she had been stared at in a manner that was 
not quite agreeable to her, and yet she did not like to en- 
dorse that lady’s condemnation of the stranger. For he 
was certainly very nice-looking — and he had been so kind 
to his mother that he could not be entirely bad — and to 
her also his face was vaguely familiar. Could he belong 
to Beaminster? 

As she sat and meditated, the tall spires of Beaminster 
Cathedral came into sight, and a few minutes brought the 


3 6 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


carriage across the grey stone bridge and down the prin- 
cipal street of the quaint old place which called itself a 
city, but was really neither more nor less than a quiet 
country town. Here Lady Caroline turned to her young 
guest with a question — “ You live in Gwynne Street, I 
believe, my dear ? ” 

“ Yes, at number ten, Gwynne Street,” said Janetta, 
suddenly starting and feeling a little uncomfortable. The 
coachman evidently knew the address already, for at that 
moment he turned the horse’s heads to the left, and the 
carriage rolled down a narrow side-street, where the tall 
red brick houses had a mean and shabby aspect, and 
seemed as if constructed to keep out sun and air as much 
as possible. 

Janetta always felt the closeness and the shabbiness a 
little when she first came home, even from school, but 
when she came from Helmsley Court they struck her with 
redoubled force. She had never thought before how dull 
the street was, nor noticed that the railings were broken 
down in front of the door with the brass-plate that bore 
her father’s name, nor that the window-curtains were torn 
and the windows sadly in need of washing. The little 
flight of stone steps that leddrom the iron gate to the door 
was also very dirty ; and the servant girl, whose head 
appeared against the area railings as the carriage drove up, 
was more untidy, more unkempt, in appearance than ever 
Janetta could have expected. ‘‘We can’t be rich, but we 
might be clean /” she said to herself in a subdued frenzy 
of impatience, as she fancied (quite unjustly) that she saw 
a faint smile pass over Lady Caroline’s delicate, impassive 
face. No wonder she thinks me an unfit friend for dear 
Margaret. But — oh, there is my dear, darling father ! 
Well, nobody can say anything against him at any rate !•” 
And Janetta’s face beamed with sudden joy as she saw 
Mr. Colwyn coming down the dirty steps to the ricketty 
little iron gate, and Lady Caroline, who knew the surgeon 
by sight, nodded to him with friendly condescension. 

“ How are you, Mr. Colwyn ? ” she said, graciously. “ I 
have brought your daughter home, you see, and I hope 
you will not scold her for what has been my daughter’s 
fault — not your’s.” 

“ I am very glad to see Janetta, under any circum- 
stances,” said Mr. Colwyn, gravely, as he raised his hat. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


37 


He was a tall spare man, in a shabby coat, with a care- 
worn aspect, and kindly, melancholy eyes. Janetta 
noticed with a pang that his hair was greyer than it had 
been when last she went back to school. 

'‘We shall be glad to see her again at Helmsley Court,” 
said Lady Caroline. “No, I won’t get out, thank you. I 
have to get back to tea. Your daughter’s box is in front. 
I was to tell you from Miss Polehampton, Mr. Colwyn, 
that her friend at Worthing would be glad of Miss Col- 
wyn’s services after the holidays.” 

‘ I am much obliged to your ladyship,” said Mr. Colwyn, 
with grave formality. “ I am not sure that I shall let my 
daughter go.” 

“ Won’t you ? Oh, but she ought to have all possible 
advantages ! And can you tell me, Mr. Colwyn, by any 
chance, who are the people whom we passed on the road 
to Beaminster — an oldish lady in black and a young man 
with very dark hair and eyes ? They had B on their 
luggage, I believe.” 

Mr. Colwyn looked surprised. 

“ I think I can tell you,” he said, quietly. “They were 
on their way from Beaminster to Brand Hall. The young 
man was a cousin of my wife’s : his name is Wyvis Brand, 
and the lady in black was his mother. They have come 
home after an absence of nearly four-and-twenty years.” 

Lady Caroline was too polite to say what she really felt 
— that she was sorry to hear it. 


CHAPTER V. 

WYVIS BRAND. 

On the evening of the day on which Lady Caroline drove 
with Janetta Colwyn to Beaminster, the lady who had 
fainted by the wayside was sitting in a rather gloomy- 
looking room at Brand Hall — a room known in the house- 
hold as the Blue Drawing-room. It had not the look of a 
drawing-room exactly : it was paneled in oak, which had 
grown black with age, as had also the great oak beams 
that crossed the ceiling and the polished floor. The 
furniture also was of oak, and the hangings of dark but 


38 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


faded blue, while the blue velvet of the chairs and the 
square of Oriental carpet, in which blue tints also prepon- 
derated, did not add cheerfulness to the scene. One or 
two great blue vases set on the carved oak mantel-piece, 
and some smaller blue ornaments on a sideboard, matched 
the furniture in tint ; but it was remarkable that on a day 
when country gardens were overflowing with blossom, 
there was not a single flower or green leaf in any of the 
vases. No smaller and lighter ornaments, no scrap of 
woman’s handiwork — lace or embroidery — enlivened the 
place : no books were set upon the table. A fire would 
not have been out of season, for the evenings were chilly, 
and it would have had a cheery look ; but there was no 
attempt at cheeriness. The woman who sat in one of the 
high-backed chairs was pale and sad : her folded hands lay 
listlessly clasped together on her lap, and the sombre 
garb that she wore was as unrelieved by any gleam of 
brightness as the room itself. In the gathering gloom of 
a chilly summer evening, even the rings upon her fingers 
could not flash. Her white face, in its setting of rough, 
wavy grey hair, over which she wore a covering of black 
lace, looked almost statuesque in its profound tranquillity. 
But it was not the tranquillity of comfort and prosperity 
that had settled on that pale, worn, high-featured face — it 
was rather the tranquillity that comes of accepted sorrow 
and inextinguishable despair. 

She had sat thus for fully half an hour when the door 
was roughly opened, and the young man whom Mr. 
Colwyn had named as Wyvis Brand came lounging into 
the room. He had been dining, but he was not in even- 
ing dress, and there was something unrestful and reckless 
in his way of moving round the room and throwing himself 
in the chair nearest his mother’s, which roused Mrs. 
Brand’s attention. She turned slightly towards him, and 
became conscious at once of the fumes of wine and strong 
tobacco with which her son had made her only too familiar. 
She looked at him for a moment, then clasped her hands 
tightly together and resumed her former position, with 
her sad face turned to the window. She may have 
breathed a sigh as she did so, but Wyvis Brand did not 
hear it, and if he had heard it, would not perhaps have 
very greatly cared. 

“ Why do you sit in the dark ? ” he said at last, in a 
vexed tone. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


39 


“ I will ring for lights,” Mrs. Brand answered quietly. 

“ Do as you like : I am not going to stay : I am going 
out,” said the young man. 

The hand that his mother had stretched out towards the 
bell fell to her side : she was a submissive woman, used to 
taking her son at his word. 

“ You are lonely here,” she ventured to remark, after a 
short silence : “ you will be glad when Cuthbert comes 
down.” 

“ It’s a beastly hole,” said her son, gloomily. “ I 
would advise Cuthbert to stay in Paris. What he will do 
with himself here, I can’t imagine.” 

“ He is happy anywhere,” said the mother, with a stifled 
sigh. 

Wyvis uttered a short, harsh laugh. 

“ That can’t be said of us, can it ? ” he exclaimed, putting 
his hand on his mother’s knee in a rough sort of caress. 
“ We are generally in the shadow while Cuthbert is in the 
sunshine, eh ? The influence of this old place makes me 
poetical, you see.” 

“ You need not be in the shadow,” said Mrs. Brand. 
But she said it with an effort. 

“ Needn’t I ? ” said Wyvis. He thrust his hands into 
his pockets and leaned back in his chair with another 
laugh. “ I have such a lot to make me cheerful, haven’t 
I?” 

His mother turned her eyes upon him with a look of 
yearning tenderness which, even if the room had been less 
dimly lighted, he would not have seen. He was not much 
in the habit of looking for sympathy in other people’s faces. 

“Is the place worse than you expected?” she asked, 
with a tremor in her voice. 

“ It is mouldier — and smaller,” he replied, curtly. 
“ One’s childish impressions don’t go for much. And it 
is in a miserable state — roof out of repair — fences falling 
down — drainage imperfect. It has been allowed to go to 
rack and ruin while we were away.” 

“ Wyvis, Wyvis,” said his mother, in a tone of pain, 
“I . kept you away for your own sake. I thought you 
would be happier abroad.” 

“ Oh — happier ! ” said the young man, rather scornfully. 
“ Happiness isn’t meant for me: it isn’t in my line. It 
makes no difference to me whether I am here or in Paris. 


40 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


I should have been here long ago if I had had any idea 
that things were going wrong in this way.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mrs. Brand, carefully controlling her 
voice, “ that you will not have the visitors you spoke of if 
the house is in so bad a state.” 

“ Not have visitors ? Of course I shall have visitors. 
What else is there for me to do with myself? We shall 
get the house put pretty straight by the 12th. Not that 
there will be any shooting worth speaking of on my place.” 

“ If nobody comes before the 12th, I think we can make 
the house habitable. I will do my best, Wyvis.” 

Wyvis laughed again, but in a softer key. “ You ! ” 
he said. You can’t do much, mother. It isn’t the sort 
of thing you care about. You stay in your own rooms 
and do your needle-work ; I’ll see to the house. Some 
men are coming long before the 12th — the day after to- 
morrow, I believe.” 

“ Who? ” < 

“ Oh, Dering and St. John and Ponsonby, I expect. I 
don’t know whether they will bring any one else.” 

“ The worst men of the worst set you know ! ” sighed 
his mother, under her breath. “ Could not you have left 
them behind ? ” 

She felt rather than saw how he frowned — how his hand 
twitched with impatience. 

“ What sort of friends am I likely to have ? ” he said. 
“ Why not those that amuse me most ? ” 

Then he rose and went over to the window, where he 
stood for some time looking out. Turning round at last, 
he perceived from a slight familiar movement of his 
mother’s hand over her eyes that she was weeping, and it 
seemed as if his heart smote him at the sight. 

“ Come, mother,” he said, kindly, “ don’t take what I 
say and do so much to heart. You know I’m no good, 
and never shall do anything in the world. You have 
Cuthbert to comfort you ” 

“Cuthbert is nothing to me — fiothing — compared with 
you, Wyvis.” 

The young man came to her side and put his hand on 
her shoulder. The passionate tone had touched him. 

“ Poor mother ! ” he said, softly. “ You’ve suffered a 
good deal through me, haven’t you ? I wish I could make 
you forget all the past — but perhaps you wouldn’t thank 
me if I could.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


4i 


“ No,” she said, leaning forward so as to rest her fore- 
head against his arm. “ No. For there has been bright- 
ness in the past, but 1 see little brightness in the future 
either for you or for me.” 

“ Well, that is my own fault,” said Wyvis, lightly but 
bitterly. “ If it had not been for my own youthful folly I 
shouldn’t be burdened as I am now. I have no one but 
myself to thank.” 

“ Yes, yes, it was my fault. I pressed you to do it — to 
tie yourself for life to the woman who has made you miser- 
able ! ” said Mrs. Brand, in a tone of despairing self-accu- 
sation. “ I fancied — then — that we were doing right.” 

“ I suppose we were doing right,” said Wyvis Brand 
sternly, but not as if the thought gave him any consolation. 
“ It was better perhaps that I should marry the woman 
whom I thought I loved — instead of leaving her or wrong- 
ing her — but I wish to God that I had never seen her 
face ! ” 

“ And to think that I persuaded you into marrying her,” 
moaned the mother, rocking herself backward and forward 
in the extremity of her regretful anguish ; “ I — who ought 
to have been wiser — who might have interfered ” 

‘‘You couldn’t have interfered to much purpose. I was 
mad about her at the time,” said her son, beginning to 
walk about the room in a restless, aimless manner. “ I 
wish, mother, that you would cease to talk about the past. 
It seems to me sometimes like a dream ; if you would but 
let it lie still, I think that I could fancy it was a dream. 
Remember that I. do not blame you. When I rage against 
the bond, I am perfectly well aware that it was one of my 
own making. No remonstrance, no command would have 
availed with me for a moment. I was determined to go 
my own way, and I went.” 

It was curious to remark that the roughness and harsh- 
ness of his first manner had dropped away from him as it 
did drop now and then. He spoke with the polished 
utterance of an educated man. It was almost as though 
he at times put on a certain boorishness of demeanor, feel- 
ing it in some way demanded of him by circumstances — 
but not natural to him after all. 

“ I will try not to vex you, Wyvis,” said his mother, 
wistfully. 

11 You do not vex me exactly,” he answered, “ but you 


42 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


stir my cld memories too often. I want to forget the past. 
Why else did I come down here, where I have never been 
since I was a child ? where Juliet never set foot, and where 
I have no association with that miserable passage in my 
life ? ” 

“ Then why do you bring those men down, Wyvis ? For 
they know the past : they will recall old associations ” 

“ They amuse me. I cannot be without companions. 
I do not pretend to cut myself off from the whole world.” 

As he spoke thus briefly and coldly, he stopped to strike 
a match, and then lighted the wax candles that stood on 
the black sideboard. By this act he meant perhaps to put 
a stop to the conversation of which he was heartily tired. 
But Mrs. Brand, in the half-bewildered condition of mind 
to which long anxiety and sorrow had reduced her, did not 
know the virtue of silence, and did not possess the magic 
quality of tact. 

“ You might find companions down here,” she said, per- 
tinaciously, “ people suited to your position — old friends of 
your father’s, perhaps ” 

“ Will they be so willing to make friends with my 
father’s son ? ” Wyvis burst out bitterly. Then, seeing 
from her white and stricken face that he had hurt her, he 
came to her side and kissed her penitently. “ Forgive me, 
mother,” he said, “ if I say what you don’t like. I’ve been 
hearing about my father ever since I came to Beaminster 
two days ago. I have heard nothing but what confirmed 
my previous idea about his character. Even poor old 
Colwyn couldn’t say any good of him. He went to the 
devil as fast as ever he could go, and his son seems likely 
to follow in his footsteps. That’s the general opinion, 
and, by George, I think I shall soon do something to jus- 
tify it.” 

“ You need not live as your father did, Wyvis,” said his 
mother, whose tears were flowing fast. 

“ If I don’t, nobody will believe it,” said the young man, 
moodily. “ There is no fighting against fate. The Brands 
are doomed, mother : we shall die out and be forgotten — 
all the better for the world, too. It is time we were done 
with : we are a bad lot.” 

“ Cuthbert is not bad. And you — Wyvis, you have your 
child.” 

“ Have I ? A child that I have not seen since it was 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


43 


six months old ! Brought up by its mother — a woman 
without heart or principle or anything that is good ! Much 
comfort the child is likely to be to me when I get hold of 
it.” 

“ When will that be ? ” said Mrs. Brand, as if speaking 
to herself rather than to him. But Wyvis replied : 

“ When she is tired of it — not before. I do not know 
where she is.” 

“ Does she not draw her allowance? ” 

“ Not regularly. And she refused her address when she 
last appeared at Kirby’s. I suppose she wants to keep 
the child away from me. She need not trouble. The last 
thing I want is her brat to bring up.” 

“ Wyvis ! ” 

But to his mother’s remonstrating exclamation Wyvis 
paid no attention in the least : his mood was fitful, and he 
was glad to step out of the ill-lighted room into the hall, 
and thence to the silence and solitude of the grounds about 
the house. 

Brand Hall had been practically deserted for the last 
few years. A tenant or two had occupied it for a little 
time soon after its late master’s withdrawal from the 
country ; but the house was inconvenient and remote from 
towns, and it was said, moreover, to be damp and un- 
healthy. A caretaker and his wife had, therefore, been its 
only inhabitants of late, and a great deal of preparation 
had been required to make it fit for its owner when he at 
last wrote to his agents in Beaminster to intimate his inten- 
tion of settling at the Hall. 

The Brands had for many a long year been renowned 
as the most unlucky family in the neighborhood. They 
had once possessed a great property in the county ; but 
gambling losses and speculation had greatly reduced their 
weaUh, and even in the time of Wyvis Brand’s grandfather 
the prestige of the family had sunk very low. In the days 
of Mark Brand, the father of Wyvis, it sank lower still. 
Mark Brand was not only “ wild,” but weak : not only 
weak, but wicked. His career was one of riotous dissipa- 
tion, culminating in what was generally spoken of as “a 
low marriage ” — with the barmaid of a Beaminster public- 
house. Mary Wyvis had never been at all like the typical 
barmaid of fiction or real life : she was always pale, quiet, 
and refined-looking, and it was not difficult to see how she 


44 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


had developed into the sorrowful, careworn woman whom 
Wyvis Brand called mother ; but she came of a thoroughly 
bad stock, and was not untouched in reputation. The 
county people cut Mark Brand after his marriage, and 
never took any notice of his wife ; and they were horrified 
when he insisted on naming his eldest son after his wife’s 
family, as if he gloried in the lowliness of her origin. But 
when Wyvis was a small boy, his father resolved that 
neither he nor his children should be flouted and jeered at 
by county magnates any longer. He went abroad, and 
remained abroad until his death, when Wyvis was twenty 
years of age and Cuthbert, the younger son, was barely 
twelve. Some people said that the discovery of some par- 
ticularly disgraceful deed was imminent when he left his 
native shores, and that it was for this reason that he had 
never returned to England ; but Mark Brand himself always 
spoke as if his health were too weak, his nerves too delicate, 
to bear the rough breezes of his own country and the 
brusque manners of his compatriots. He had brought up 
his son according to his own ideas ; and the result did not 
seem entirely satisfactory. Vague rumors occasionally 
reached Beaminster of scrapes and scandals in which the 
young Brands figured ; it was said that Wyvis was a par- 
ticularly black sheep, and that he did his best to corrupt 
his younger brother Cuthbert. The news that he was 
coming back to Brand Hall was not received with enthu- 
siasm by those who heard it. 

Wyvis’ own story had been a sad one — perhaps more 
sad than scandalous ; but it was a story that the Beamin- 
ster people were never to hear aright. Few knew it, and 
most of those who knew it had agreed to keep it secret. 
That his wife and child were living, many persons in Paris 
were aware ; that they had separated was also known, but 
the reason of that separation was to most persons a secret. 
And Wyvis, who had a great dislike to chatterers, made 
up his mind when he came to Beaminster that he would 
tell to nobody the history of the past few years. Had it 
not been for his mother’s sad face, he fancied that he could 
have put it out of his mind altogether. He half resented 
the pertinacity with which she seemed to brood upon it. 
the fact that she had forwarded — had almost insisted upon 
— the unfortunate marriage, weighed heavily upon her 
mind. There had been a point at which Wyvis would have 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


45 


given it up. But his mother had espoused the side of the 
girl, persuaded the young man to fulfill his promises to her 
— and repented it ever since. Mrs. Wyvis Brand had 
developed an uncontrollable love for strong drink, as well 
as a temper that made her at times more like a mad woman 
than an ordinary human being ; and when she one day dis- 
appeared from her husband’s home, carrying his child with 
her, and announcing in a subsequent letter that she did not 
mean to return, it could hardly be wondered at if Wyvis 
drew a long breath of relief, and hoped that she never 
would. 


CHAPTER VI. 

JANETTA AT HOME. 

When Lady Caroline drove away from Gwynne Street, 
Janetta was left by the tumble-down iron gate with her 
father, in whose hand she had laid both her own. He 
looked at her interrogatively, smiled a little and said — 
“ Well, my dear ? ” with a softening of his whole face 
which made him positively beautiful in Janetta’s eyes. 

“ Dear, dearest father ! ” said the girl, with an irre- 
pressible little sob. “ I am so glad to see you again ! ” 

“ Come in, my dear,” said Mr. Colwyn, who was not an 
emotional man, although a sympathetic one. “ We have 
been expecting you all day. We did not think that they 
would keep you so long at the Court.” 

“ I’ll tell you all about it when I get in,” said Janetta, 
trying to speak cheerily, with an instinctive remembrance 
of the demands usually made upon her fortitude in her own 
home. “ Is mamma in ? ” She always spoke of the pre- 
sent Mrs. Colwyn, as “ mamma,” to distinguish her from 
her own mother. “ I don’t see any of the children.” 

“ Frightened away by the grand carriage, I expect,” 
said Mr. Colwyn, with a grim smile. “ I see a head or 
two at the window. Here, Joey, Georgie, Tiny — where 
are you all? Come and help to carry your sister’s things 
upstairs.” He went to the front door and called again ; 
whereupon a side door opened, and from it issued a slip- 
shod, untidy-looking woman in a shawl, while over her 


46 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


shoulder and under her arm appeared a little troop of 
children in various stages of growth and untidiness. Mrs. 
Colwyn had the peculiarity of never being ready for any 
engagement, much less for any emergency : she had been 
expecting Janetta all day, and with Janetta some of the 
Court party ; but she was nevertheless in a state of semi-- 
undress, which she tried to conceal underneath her shawl \ 
and on the first intimation of the approach of Lady Caro- 
line’s carriage she had shut herself and the children into a 
back room, and declared her intention of fainting on the 
spot if Lady Caroline entered the front door. 

“ Well, Janetta,” she said, as she advanced towards her 
step-daughter and presented one faded cheek to be kissed, 
“ so your grand friends have brought you home ! Of 
course they wouldn’t come in ; I did not expect them, I 
am sure. Come into the front room — and children, don’t 
crowd so ; your sister will speak to you by-and-bye.” 

“ Oh, no, let me kiss them now,” said Janetta, who was 
receiving a series of affectionate hugs that went far to 
blind her eyes to the general deficiency of orderliness and 
beauty in the house to which she had come. “ Oh, dar- 
lings, I am so glad to see you again ! Joey, how you have 
grown ! And Tiny isn’t Tiny any longer ! Georgie, you 
have been plaiting your hair ! And here are Curly and 
Jinks ! But where is Nora?” 

“ Upstairs, curling her hair,” shouted the child who was 
known by the name of Jinks. While Georgie, a well-grown 
girl of thirteen, added in a lower tone, 

“ She would not come down until the Court people had 
gone. She said she didn’t want to be patronized.” 

Janetta colored, and turned away. Meanwhile Mrs. 
Colwyn had dropped into the nearest arm-chair, and Mr. 
Colwyn strayed in and out of the room with the expression 
of a dog that has lost its master. Georgie hung upon 
Janetta’s arm, and the younger children either clung to 
their elder sister, or stared at her with round eyes and 
their fingers in their mouths. Janetta felt uncomfortably 
conscious of being more than usually interesting to them 
all. Joe, the eldest boy, a dusty lad of fourteen, all legs 
and arms, favored her with a broad grin expressive of 
delight, which his sister did not understand. It was Tiny, 
the most gentle and delicate of the tribe, who let in a little 
light on the subject. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


47 


“ Did they send you away from school for being 
naughty?” she asked, with a grave look into Janetta’s 
face. 

A chuckle from Joey, and a giggle from Georgie, were 
instantly repressed by Mr. Colwyn’s frown and Mrs. 
Colwyn’s acid remonstrance. 

“ What are you thinking of, children ? Sister is never 
naughty. We do not yet quite understand why she has 
left Miss Polehampton’s so suddenly, but of course she has 
some good reason. She’ll explain it, no doubt, to her 
papa and me. Miss Polehampton has been a great deal 
put out about it all, and has written a long letter to your 
papa, Janetta; and, indeed, it seems to me as if it would 
have been more becoming if you had kept to your own 
place and not tried to make friends with those above 


“Who are those above her, I should like to know?” 
broke in the grey-haired surgeon with some heat. “ My 
Janet’s as good as the best of them any day. The Adairs 
are not such grand people as Miss Polehampton makes 
out — I never heard of such insulting distinctions ! ” 

“ Fancy Janetta being sent away — regularly expelled ! ” 
muttered Joey, with anothei chuckle. 

“ You are very unkind to talk in that way ! ” said Janetta, 
addressing him, becauge at that moment she could not bear 
to look at Mr. Colwyn. “ It was not that that made Miss 
Polehampton angry. It was what she called insubordina- 
tion. Miss Adair did not like to see me having meals at 
a side-table — though I didn’t mind one single bit ! — and 
she left her own place and sat by me — and then Miss 
Polehampton was vexed — and everything followed natural- 
ly. It was not just my being friends with Miss Adair that 
made her send me away. 

“ It seems to me,” said Mr. Colwyn, “ that Miss Adair 
was very inconsiderate.” 

“ It was all her love and friendship, father,” pleaded 
Janetta. “ And she had always had her own way ; and of 
course she did not think that Miss Polehampton really 
meant ” 

Her weak little excuses were cut short by a scornful 
laugh from her stepmother. 

“ It’s easy to see that you have been made a cat’s paw 
of, Janetta,” she said. “ Miss Adair was tired of school, 


48 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


and took the opportunity of making a to-do about you, so 
as to provoke the schoolmistress and get sent away. It 
does not matter to her, of course : she hasn’t got her liv- 
ing to earn. And if you lose your teaching, and Miss 
Polehampton’s recommendations by it, it doesn’t affect 
her. Oh, I understand these fine ladies and their ways.” 

“ Indeed,” said Janetta, in distress, “ you quite mis- 
understand Miss Adair, mamma. Besides, it has not de- 
prived me of my teaching : Miss Polehampton had told 
me that I might go to her sister’s school at Worthing if I 
liked ; and she only let me go yesterday because she 
became irritated at — at — some of the things that were 
said ” 

‘‘Yes, but I shall not let you go to Worthing,” said Mr. 
Colwyn, with sudden decisiveness. “You shall not be 
exposed to insolence of this kind any longer. Miss Pole- 
hampton had no right to treat you as she did, and I shall 
write and tell her so.” 

“ And if Janetta stays at home,” said his wife com- 
plainingly, “ what is to become of her career as a music- 
teacher? She can’t get lessons here, and there’s the 
expense ” 

“ I hope I can afford to keep my daughter as long as I 
am alive,” said Mr. Colwyn with some vehemence. 
“ There, don’t be vexed, my dear child,” and he laid his 
hand tenderly on Janetta’s shourder, “ nobody blames 
you ; and your friend erred perhaps from over-affection ; 
but Miss Polehampton ” — with energy — “ is a vulgar, self- 
seeking, foolish old woman, and I won’t have you enter 
into relations with her again.” 

And then he left the room, and Janetta, forcing back 
the tears in her eyes, did her best to smile when Georgie 
and Tiny hugged her simultaneously and Jinks beat a tat- 
too upon her knee. 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Colwyn, lugubriously, “ I hope every- 
thing will turn out for the best ; but it is not at all nice, 
Janetta, to think that Miss Adair has been expelled for 
your sake, or that you are thrown out of work without a 
character, so to speak. I should think the Adairs would 
see that, and would make some compensation. If they 
don’t offer to do so, your papa might suggest it ” 

“ I’m sure father would never suggest anything of the 
kind,” Janetta flashed out ; but before Mrs. Colwyn could 
protest, a diversion was effected by the entrance of the 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


49 


missing Nora, and all discussion was postponed to a more 
fitting moment. 

For to look at Nora was to forget discussion. She was 
the eldest of the second Mrs. Colwyn’s children — a girl 
just seventeen, taller than Janetta and thinner, with the 
thinness of immature girlhood, but with a fair skin and a 
mop of golden-brown hair, which curled so naturally that 
her younger brother’s statement concerning those fair locks 
must surely have been a libel. She had a vivacious, nar- 
row, little face, with large eyes like a child’s — that is to 
say, they had the transparent look that one sees in some 
children’s eyes, as if the color had been laid on in a sin- 
gle wash without any shadows. They were very pretty 
eyes, and gave light and expression to a set of rather small 
features, which might have been insignificant if they had 
belonged to an insignificant person. But Nora Colwyn 
was anything but insignificant. 

“ Have your fine friends gone ? ” she said, peeping into 
the room in pretended alarm. “ Then I may come in. 
How are you, Janetta, after your sojourn in the halls of 
dazzling light ? ” 

“ Don’t be absurd, Nora,” said her sister, with a sudden 
backward dart of remembrance to the tranquil beauty of 
the rooms at Helmsley Court and the silver accents of 
Lady Caroline. “ Why didn’t you come down before? ” 

“ My dear, I thought the nobility and gentry were block- 
ing the door,” said Nora, kissing her. “ But since they 
are gone, you might as well come upstairs with me and 
take off your things. Then we can have tea.” 

Obediently Janetta followed her sister to the little room 
which they always shared when Janetta was at home. It 
might have looked very bare and desolate to ordinary eyes, 
but the girl felt the thrill of pleasure that all young crea- 
tures feel to anything that bears the name of home, and 
became aware of a satisfaction such as she had not experi- 
enced in her luxurious bedroom at Helmsley Court. Nora 
helped her to take off her hat and cloak, and to unpack 
her box, insisting meanwhile on a detailed relation of all 
the events that had led to Janetta’s return three weeks 
before the end of the term, and shrieking with laughter over 
what she called “ Miss Poley’s defeat.” 

“ But, seriously, Nora, what shall I do with myself, if 
father will not let me go to Worthing? ” 

4 


5 ° 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“Teach the children at home,” said Nora, briskly; 
“ and save me the trouble of looking after them. I should 
like that. Or get some pupils in the town. Surely the 
Adairs will recommend you ! ” 

This constant reference to possible aid from the Adairs 
troubled Janetta not a little, and it was with some notion 
of combatting the idea that she repaired to the surgery 
after tea, in order to get a few words on the subject with 
her father. But his first remark was on quite a different 
matter. 

“ Here’s a pretty kettle of fish, Janet ! The Brands are 
back again ! ” 

“ So I heard you say to Lady Caroline.” 

“ Mark Brand was a cousin of your mother’s,” said Mr. 
Colwyn, abruptly ; “ and a bad lot. As for these sons of 
his, I know nothing about them — absolutely nothing. 
But their mother ” he shook his head significantly. 

“ We saw them to day,” said Janetta. 

“Ah, an accident of that kind would be a shock to her : 
she does not look strong. They wrote to me from the 
‘ Crown,’ where they had stayed for the last two days ; 
some question relative to the drainage of Brand Hall. I 
went to the ‘ Crown ’ and saw them. He’s a fine-looking 
man.” 

“ He has not altogether a pleasant expression,” re- 
marked Janetta, thinking of Lady Caroline’s strictures ; 
“ but I — liked — his face.” 

“ He looks ill-tempered,” said her father. “ And I can’t 
say that he showed me much civility. He did not even 
know that your poor mother was dead. Never asked 
whether she had left any family or anything.” 

“ Did you tell him ? ” asked Janetta, after a pause. 

“ No. I did not think it worth while. I am not 
anxious to cultivate his acquaintance.” 

“After all, what does it matter?” said the girl coax- 
ingly, for she thought she saw a shadow of disappointment 
upon his face. 

“No, what does it matter?” said her father, brighten- 
ing up at once. “ As long as we are happy with each 
other, these outside people need not disturb us, need 
they ? ” 

“ Not a bit,” said Janetta. “ And — you are not angry 
with me, are you, father, dear ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


5 1 


“Why should I be, my Janet? You have done nothing 
wrong that I know of. If there is any blame it attaches 
to Miss Adair, not to you.” 

“ But I do not want you to think so, father. Miss Adair 
is the greatest friend that I have in all the world." 

And she found a good many opportunities of repeating 
this conviction of hers during the next few days, for Mrs. 
Colwyn and Nora were not slow to repeat the sentiment 
with which they had greeted her — that the Adairs were 
“ stuck-up ” fine people, and that they did not mean to 
take any further notice of her now that they had got what 
they desired. 

Janetta stood up gallantly for her friend, but she did 
feel it a little hard that Margaret had not written or come 
to see her since her return home. She conjectured — and 
in the conjecture she was nearly right — that Lady Caroline 
had sacrificed her a little in order to smooth over things 
with her daughter : that she had represented Janetta as 
resolved upon going, resolved upon neglecting Margaret 
and not complying with her requests ; and that Margaret 
was a little offended with her in consequence. She wrote 
an affectionate note of excuse to her friend, but Margaret 
made no reply. 

In the first ardor of a youthful friendship, Janetta's 
heart ached over this silence, and she meditated much as 
she lay nights upon her little white bed in Nora’s attic (for 
she had not time to meditate during the day) upon the 
smoothness of life which seemed necessary to the Adairs 
and the means they took for securing it. On the whole, 
their life seemed to her too artificial, too much like the life 
of delicate hot-house flowers under glass ; and she came 
to the conclusion that she preferred her own mode of 
existence — troublous and hurried and common as it might 
seem in the eyes of the world to be. After all, was it not 
pleasant to know that while she was at home, there was a 
little more comfort than usual for her over-worked, hardly- 
driven, careworn father ; she could see that his meals were 
properly cooked and served when he came in from long 
and weary expeditions into the country or amongst the 
poor of Beaminster ; she could help Joey and Georgie in 
the evenings with their respective lessons ; she could 
teach and care for the younger children all day long. To 
her stepmother she did hot feel that she was very useful ) 


52 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


but she could at any rate make new caps for her, new lace 
fichus and bows, which caused Mrs. Colwyn occasionally 
to remark with some complacency that Janetta had been 
quite wasted at Miss Polehamp ton’s school : her proper 
destiny was evidently to be a milliner. 

Nora was the one person of the family who did not 
seem to want Janetta’s help. Indirectly, however, the 
elder sister was more useful to her than she knew ; for the 
two went out together and were companions. Hitherto 
Nora had walked alone, and had made one or two un- 
desirable girl acquaintances. But these were dropped 
when she had Janetta to talk to, dropped quietly, without 
a word, much to their indignation, and without Janetta’s 
knowing of their existence. 

It became a common thing for the two girls to go out 
together in the long summer evenings, when the work of 
the day was over, and stroll along the country roads, or 
venture into the cool shadow of the Beaminster woods. 
Sometimes the children went with them : sometimes 
Janetta and Nora went alone. And it was when they 
were alone one evening that a somewhat unexpected inci- 
dent came to pass. 

The Beaminster woods ran for some distance in a 
northerly direction beyond Beaminster, and there was a 
point where only a wire fence divided them from the 
grounds of Brand Hall. Near this fence Janetta and her 
sister found themselves one evening — not that they had 
purposed to reach the boundary, but that they had strayed 
a little from the beaten path. As they neared the fence 
they looked at each other and laughed. 

“ I did not know that we were so near the lordly dwell- 
ing of your relations ! ” said Nora, who loved to tease, and 
knew that she could always rouse Janetta’s indignation by 
a reference to her “ fine friends.” 

“ I did not know either,” returned Janetta, good- 
humoredly. “We can see the house a little. Look at the 
great red chimneys.” 

“ I have been over it,” said Nora, contemptuously. 
“ It’s a poor little place, after all — saving your presence, 
Netta ! I wonder if the Brands mean to acknowledge 
your existence ? They ” 

She stopped short, for her foot had caught on some- 
thing, and she nearly stumbled. Janetta stopped also, 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


S3 


and the two sisters uttered a sudden cry of surprise. For 
what Nora had stumbled over was a wooden horse — a 
child’s broken toy — and deep in the bracken before them, 
with one hand beneath his flushed and dimpled cheek, 
there lay the loveliest of all objects — a sleeping child. 


CHAPTER VII. 

NORA’S NEW ACQUAINTANCE. 

“ He must have lost his way,” said Janetta, bending over 
him. “ Poor little fellow ! ” 

“ He’s a pretty little boy,” said Nora, carelessly. “ His 
nurse or his mother or somebody will be near, I dare say — 
perhaps gone up to the house. Shall I look about ? ” 

“ Wait a minute — he is awake — he will tell us who he 
is.” 

The child, roused by the sound of voices, turned a little, 
stretched himself, then opened his great dark eyes, and 
fixed them full on Janetta’s face. What he saw there 
must have reassured him, for a dreamy smile came to his 
lips, and he stretched out his little hands to her. 

“ You darling ! ” cried Janetta. “ Where did you come 
from, dear ? What is your name ? ” 

The boy raised himself and looked about him. He 
looked about five years old, and was a remarkably fine and 
handsome child. It was in perfectly clear and distinct 
English — almost free from any trace of baby dialect — that 
he replied — 

“ Mammy brought me. She said I should find my 
father here. I don’t want my father,” he remarked, 
decidedly. 

“Who is your father? What is your name?” Nora 
asked. 

“ My name is Julian Wyvis Brand,” said the little fellow, 
sturdily ; “ and I want to know where my father lives, if 
you please, ’cause it’ll soon be my bed-time, and I’m 
getting very hungry.” 

Janetta and her sister exchanged glances. 

“Is your father’s name Wyvis Brand, too?” asked 
Janetta. 


54 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Yes, same as mine,” said the boy, nodding. He stood 
erect now, and she noticed that his clothes, originally of 
fashionable cut and costly material, were torn and stained 
and shabby. He had a little bundle beside him, tied up 
in a gaudy shawl; and the broken toy-horse seemed to 
have fallen out of it. 

“ But where is your mother? ” 

“ Mammy’s gone away. She told me to go and find my 
father at the big red house there. I did go once ; but they 
thought I was a beggar, and they sent me away. I don’t 
know what to do, I don’t. I wish mammy would come.” 

“ Will she come soon? ” 

“She said no. Never, never, never. She’s gone over 
the. sea again,” said the boy, with the abstracted, medita- 
tive look which children sometimes assume when they are 
concocting a romance, and which Janetta was quick to 
remark. “ I think she’s gone right off to America or 
London. But she said that I was to tell my father that 
she would never come back.” 

“What are we to do? ” said Nora, in an under tone. 

“ We must take him to Brand Hall,” Janetta answered, 
“ and ask to see either Mrs. Brand or Mr. Wyvis Brand.” 

“ Won’t it be rather dreadful ? ” 

Janetta turned hastily on her sister. “ Yes,” she said, 
with decision, “ it is very awkward, indeed, and it may be 
much better that you should not be mixed up in the matter 
at all. You must stay here while I go up to the house.” 

“ But, Janetta, wouldn^t-you rather have some one with 
you ? ” 

“ I think it will be easier alone,” Janetta answered. 
“ You see, I have seen Mrs. Brand and her son already, 
and I feel as if I knew what they would be like. Wait for 
me here : I daresay I shall not be ten minutes. Come, 
dear, will you go with me to see if we can find your 
father ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the boy, promptly putting his hand in hers. 

“ Are these your things in the bundle ? ” 

“ Yes ; mammy put them there. There’s my Sunday 
suit, and my book of ‘Jack, the Giantkiller,’ you know. 
And my wooden horse ; but it’s broke. Will you carry the 
horse for me ? — and I’ll carry the bundle.” 

“ Isn’t it too heavy for you ? ” 

“ Not a bit,” and the little fellow grasped it by both 
hands, and swung it about triumphantly. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


55 


“ Come along, then,” said Janetta, with a smile. “ Wait 
for me here, Nora, dear : I shall then find you easily when 
I come back.” 

She marched off, the boy stumping after her with his 
burden. Nora noticed that after a few minutes’ walk her 
sister gently relieved him of the load and carried it herself. 

“Just like Janetta,” she soliloquized, as the two figures 
disappeared behind a clump of tall trees ; “ she was afraid 
of spoiling the moral if she did not let him try at least to 
carry the bundle. She always is afraid of spoiling the 
moral : I never knew such a conscientious person in my life. 
I am sure, as mamma says, she sets an excellent example.” 

And then Nora balanced herself on the loose wire of the 
fence, which made an excellent swing, and poising herself 
upon it she took off her hat, and resigned herself to waiting 
for Janetta’s return. Naturally, perhaps, her meditations 
turned upon Janetta’s character. 

“ I wish I were like her,” she said to herself. “ Wherever 
she is she seems to find work to do, and makes herself 
necessary and useful. Now, I am of no use to anybody. 
I don’t think I was ever meant to be of use. I was meant 
to be ornamental ! ” She struck the wire with the point of 
her little shoe, and looked at it regretfully. “ I have no 
talent, mamma says. I can look nice, I believe, and that is 
all. If I were Margaret Adair I am sure I should be very 
much admired ! But being only Nora Colwyn, the doctor’s 
daughter, I must mend socks and make puddings, and eat 
cold mutton and wear old frocks to the end of the chapter ! 
What a mercy I am taller than Janetta ! My old dresses are 
cut down for her, but she can’t leave me her cast-off ones. 
That little wretch, Georgie, will soon be as tall as I am, I 
-believe. Thank goodness, she will never be as pretty.” 
And Miss Nora, who was really excessively vain, drew out 
of her pocket a small looking-glass, and began studying 
her features as therein reflected : first her eyes, when she 
pulled out her eyelashes and stroked her eyebrows ; then 
her nose, which she pinched a little to make longer ; then 
her mouth, of which she bit the lips in order to increase 
the color and judge of the effect. Then she took some 
geranium petals from the flowers in her belt and rubbed 
them on her cheeks : the red stain became her mightily, 
she thought, and was almost as good as rouge. 

Thus engaged, she did not hear steps on the pathway by 


56 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


which she and Janetta had come. A man, young and slim, 
with a stoop and a slight halt in his walk, with bright, 
curling hair, worn rather longer than Englishmen usually 
wear it, with thin but expressive features, and very brilliant 
blue eyes — this was the personage who now appeared upon 
the scene. He stopped short rather suddenly when he 
became aware of the presence of a young lady upon the 
fence — perhaps it was to him a somewhat startling one : 
then, when he noted how she was engaged, a smile broke 
gradually over his countenance. He once made a move- 
ment to advance, then restrained himself and waited ; but 
some involuntary rustle of the branches above him or twigs 
under his feet revealed him. Nora gave a little involun- 
tary cry, dropped her looking-glass, and colored crimson 
with vexation at finding that some one was watching her. 

“ What ought I to do, I wonder ? ” Such was the thought 
that flashed through the young man’s mind. He was 
remarkably quick in receiving impressions and in drawing 
conclusions. “She is not a French girl, thank goodness, 
fresh from a convent, and afraid to open her lips ! Neither 
is she the conventional young English lacly,, or she would 
not sit on a fence and look at herself in a pocket looking- 
glass. At least, I suppose she would not : how should I 
know what English girls would do ? At any rate, here 
goes for addressing her.” 

All these ideas passed through his mind in the course 
of the second or two which elapsed while he courteously 
raised his hat, and advanced to pick up the fallen hand- 
glass. But Nora was too quick for him. She had slipped 
off the fence and secured her mirror before he could reach 
it; and then, with a look of quite unnecessary scorn and 
anger, she almost turned her back upon him, and stood 
looking at the one angle of the house which she could 
see. 

The young man brushed his moustache to conceal a 
smile, and ventured on the remark that he had been wait- 
ing to make. - * 

“I beg your pardon; I trust that I did not startle 
you.” 

“ Not at- all,” said Nora, with dignity. But she did not 
turn round;*' 

“ If you ar6 looking for the gate into the grounds,” he 
resumed, with great considerateness of manner, “ you will 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


57 


find it about twenty yards further to your left, Can I have 
the pleasure of showing you the way ? ” 

“ No, thank you,” said Miss Nora, very ungraciously. 
“ I am waiting for my sister.” She felt that some explan- 
ation was necessary to account for the fact that she did 
not immediately walk away. 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” said the young man once 
more, but this time in a rather disappointed tone. Then, 
brightening — “ But if your sister has gone up to our house 
why won’t you come in too ? ” 

“ Your house ? ” said Nora, unceremoniously, and facing 
him with an air of fearless incredulity, which amused him 
immensely. “ But you are not Mr. Brand ? ” 

“ My name is Brand,” said the young fellow, smiling the 
sunniest smile in the world, and again raising his hat, with 
what Nora now noticed to be a rather foreign kind of 
grace : “ and if you know it, I feel that it is honored 
already.” 

Nora knitted her brows. “ I don’t know what you 
mean,” she said, impatiently, “ but you are not Mr. 
Brand of the Hall, are you ? ” 

“ I live at the Hall, certainly, and my name is Brand — 
Cuthbert Brand, at your service.” 

“ Oh, I see. Not Wyvis Brand ? ” said Nora impul- 
sively. “ Not the father of the dear little boy that we found 
here just now ? ” 

Cuthbert Brand’s fair face colored. He looked exces- 
sively surprised. 

“ The father — a little boy ? I am afraid,” he said, with 
some embarrassment of manner, “ that I do not exactly 
know what you mean ” 

“ It is just this,” said Nora, losing her contemptuous 
manner and coming closer to the speaker ; “ when my 
sister and I were walking this way we saw a little boy 
lying here fast asleep. He woke up and told us that his 
name was Julian Wyvis Brand, and that his mother had 
left him <here, and told him to find his father, who lived at 
that red house.” 

“ Good heavens ! And the woman — what became of 
her ? ” 

“ The boy said she had gone away and would not come 
back.” 

“ I trust she may not/’ muttered Cuthbert angrily to 


58 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


himself. A red flash colored his brow as he went on. 
“ My brother’s wife,” he said formally, “ is not — at pre- 
sent — on very friendly terms with him ; we did not know 
that she intended to bring the child home in this manner : 
we thought that she desired to keep it — where is the boy, 
by the way ? ” 

“ My sister has taken him up to the Hall. She said 
that she would see Mr. Brand.” 

Cuthbert raised his eyebrows. “ See my brother ? ” he 
repeated, as if involuntarily. “ My brother ! ” 

“ She is his second cousin, you know : I suppose that 
gives her courage,*’ said Nora smiling at the tone of 
horror which she fancied must be simulated for the occa- 
sion. But Cuthbert was in earnest — he knew Wyvis 
Brand’s temper too well to anticipate anything but a rough 
reception for any one who seemed inclined to meddle with 
his private affairs. And if Nora’s sister were like herself! 
For Nora did not look like a person who would bear 
roughness or rudeness from any one. 

“ Then are ) ,, ou my cousin, too?” he asked, suddenly 
struck by an idea that sent a gleam of pleasure to his 
eye. 

“ Oh, no,” said Nora, demurely. “ I’m no relation. It 
is only Janetta — her mother was Mr. Brand’s father’s 
cousin. But that was not my mother — Janetta and I are 
stepsisters.” 

“ Surely that makes a relationship, however,” said 
Cuthbert, courageously. “ If your stepsister is my second 
cousin, you must be a sort of step-second-cousin to me. 
Will you not condescend to acknowledge the connec- 
tion ? ” 

“ Isn’t the condescension all on your side ? ” said Nora 
coolly. “ It may be a connection, but it certainly isn’t a 
relationship.” 

“ I am only too glad to hear you call it a connection,” 
said Cuthbert, with gravity. And then the two laughed — 
Nora rather against her will — Cuthbert out of amusement at 
the situation, and both out of sheer light-heartedness. 
And when they had laughed the ice seemed to be broken, 
and they felt as if they were old friends. 

u I did not know that any of our relations were living 
in Beaminster,” he resumed, after a moment’s pause. 

“ I suppose you never even heard our name,” said Nora, 
saucily. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


59 


“ I don’t — know ” he began, in some confusion. 

“ Of course you don’t. Your father had a cousin and 
she married a doctor — a poor country surgeon, and so of 
course you forgot all about her existence. She was not 
viy mother, so I can speak out, you know. Your father 
never spoke to her again after she married my father.” 

“ More shame to him ! I remember now. Your father 
is James Colwyn.” 

Nora nodded. “ I think it was a very great shame,” 
she said. 

“ And so do I,” said Cuthbert, heartily. 

“ It was all the worse,” Nora went on, quite forgetting 
in her eagerness whom she was talking to, “because Mr. 
Brand was not himself so very much thought of, you know 
— people did not think — oh, I forgot ! I beg your pardon ! ” 
she suddenly ejaculated, turning crimson as she remem- 
bered that the man to whom she was speaking was the 
son of the much-abused Mr. Brand, who had been con- 
sidered the black sheep of the county. 

“ Don’t apologize, pray,” said Cuthbert, lightly. “ I’m 
quite accustomed to hearing my relations spoken ill of. 
What was it that people did not think? ” 

“Oh,” said Nora, now covered with confusion, “of 
course I could not tell you.” 

“ It was so very bad, was it ? ” said the young man, laugh- 
ing. “ You need not be afraid. Really and seriously, I 
have been told that my poor father was not very popular 
about here, and I don’t much wonder at it, for although 
he was a good father to us he was rather short in manner, 
and, perhaps, I may add, in temper. Wyvis is like him 
exactly, I believe.” 

“ And are you ? ” asked Nora. 

Cuthbert raised his hat and gave it a tremendous flourish. 
“ Mademoiselle, I have not that honor,” he replied. 

“ I suppose I ought not to have asked,” said Nora to 
herself, but this time she restrained herself and did not 
say it aloud. “ I wonder where Janetta is ? ” she mur- 
mured after a moment’s silence. “ I did not think that 
she would be so long.” 

If Cuthbert thought the remark ungracious, as he 
might well have done, he made no sign of discomfiture. 
“Can I do anything?” he asked. “Shall I go to the 
house and find out whether she has seen my brother ? But 
then I shall have to leave you.” 


6o 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Oh, that doesn’t matter,” said Nora, innocently. 

li Doesn’t it? But I hardly like the idea of leaving you 
all alone. There might be tramps about. If you are like 
all the other young ladies I have known, you will have an 
objection to tramps.” 

“ I am sure,” said Nora, with confidence, “ that I am 
not at all like the other young ladies you know ; but at 
the same time I must confess that I don’t like tramps.” 

“ I knew it. And I saw a tramp — I am sure I did — a 
little while ago in this very wood. He was ragged and dirty, 
but picturesque. I sketched him, but I think he would 
not be a pleasant companion for you.” 

“ Do you sketch ? ” said Nora quickly. 

“ Oh, yes, I sketch a little,” he answered in a careless 
sort of way — for what was the use of telling this little girl 
that his pictures had been hung in the Salon and the Aca- 
demy, or that he had hopes of one day rising to fame and 
fortune in his recently adopted profession ? He was not 
given to boasting of his own success, and besides, this child 
— with her saucy face and guileless eyes — would not under- 
stand either his ambitions or his achievements. 

But Nora’s one talent was for drawing, and although 
the instruction she had received was by no means of the 
best, she had good taste and a great desire to improve 
her skill. So Cuthbert’s admission excited her interest at 
once. 

“ Have you been sketching now ? ” she asked. “ Oh, do 
let me see what you have done ? ” 

Cuthbert’s portfolio was under his arm. He laughed, 
hesitated, then dropped on one knee beside her and began 
to exhibit his sketches. It was thus — side by side, with 
heads very close together — that Janetta, much to her 
amazement, found them on her return. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

FATHER AND CHILD. 

Janetta had set off on her expedition to Brand Hall out 
of an impulse of mingled pity and indignation — pity for 
the little boy, indignation against the mother who could 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


61 


desert him, perhaps against the father too. This feeling 
prevented her from realizing all at once the difficult posi- 
tion in which she was now placing herself ; the awkward- 
ness in which she would be involved if Mr. Brand declared 
that he knew nothing of the child, or would have nothing 
to do with it. “ In that case,” she said to herself, with 
an admiring glance at the lovely little boy, “ I shall have 
to adopt him, I think ! I wonder what poor mamma would 
say ! ” 

She found her way without difficulty to the front-door 
of the long, low, rambling red house which was dignified 
by the name of Brand Hall. The place had a desolate 
look still, in spite of its being inhabited. Scarcely a win- 
dow was open, and no white blinds or pretty curtains could 
be seen at the casements. The door was also shut ; and 
as it was one of those wide oaken doors, mantled with 
creepers, and flanked with seats, which look as if they 
should always stand hospitably open, it gave the stranger 
a sense of coldness and aloofness to stand before it. And, 
also, there was neither bell nor knocker — a fact which 
showed that few visitors ever made their appearance at 
Brand Hall. Janetta looked about her in dismay, and 
then tapped at the door with her fingers, while the child 
followed her every movement with his great wondering 
eyes, and finally said, gravely — 

“ I think they have all gone to sleep in this house, like 
the people in the ‘Sleeping Beauty ' story.” 

“ Then you must be the Fairy Prince to wake them all 
up,” said Janetta, laughingly. 

The boy looked at her as if he understood ; then, sud- 
denly stooping, he picked up a fallen stick and proceeded 
to give the door several smart raps upon its oaken panels. 

This summons procured a response. The door was 
opened, after a good deal of ineffectual fumbling at bolts 
and rattling of chains, by an old, white-haired serving man, 
who looked as if he had stepped out of the story to which 
Julian had alluded. He was very deaf, and it was some 
time before Janetta could make him understand that she 
wanted to see Mrs. Brand. Evidently Mrs. Brand was 
not in the habit of receiving visitors. At last he conducted 
her to the dark little drawing-room where the mistress of 
the house usually sat, and here Janetta was received by 
the pale, grey-haired woman whom she had seen fainting 


62 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


on the Beaminster road. It was curious to notice the 
agitation of this elderly lady on Janetta’s appearance. She 
stood up, crushed her handkerchief between her trem- 
bling fingers, took a step towards her visitor, and then 
stood still, looking at her with such extraordinary anxiety 
that Janetta was quite confused and puzzled by it. Seeing 
that her hostess could not in any way assist her out of her 
difficulty, she faced it boldly by introducing herself. 

“ My name is Janetta Colwyn,” she began. “ I believe 
that my mother was a relation of Mr. Brand’s — a 
cousin ” 

“ Yes, a first cousin,” said Mrs. Brand, nervously. “ I 
often heard him speak of her — I never saw her ” 

She paused, looked suspiciously at Janetta, and colored 
all over her thin face. Janetta paused also, being taken 
somewhat by surprise. 

“ No, I don’t suppose you ever saw her,” she said, “ but 
then you went abroad, and my dear mother died soon after 
I was born. Otherwise, I daresay you would have known 
her.” 

Mrs. Brand gave her a strange look. “ You think so? ” 
she said. “ But no — you are wrong : she always looked 
down on me. She never would have been friendly with 
me if she had lived.” 

“ Indeed,” said Janetta, very much astonished. “ I 
always heard that it was the other way — that Mr. Brand 
was angry with her for marrying a poor country surgeon, 
and would not speak to her again.” 

“ That is what they may have said to you. But you 
were too young to be told the truth,” said the sad-faced 
woman, beginning to tremble all over as she spoke. “ No, 
your mother would not have been friends with me. I was 
not her equal — and she knew I was not.” 

“ Oh, indeed, you make a mistake : I am sure you do,” 
cried Janetta, becoming genuinely distressed as this view 
of her mother’s character and conduct was fixed upon her. 
“ My mother was always gentle and kind, they tell me; I 
am sure she would have been your friend — as I will be, if 
you will let me.” She held out her hands and drew those 
of the trembling woman into her warm young clasp. “ I 
am a cousin too,” she said, blushing a little as she asserted 
herself in this way, “ and I hope you will let me come to 
see you sometimes and make you less lonely.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


6 3 


“ I am always lonely, and I always shall be lonely to the 
end of time,” said Mrs. Brand, slowly and bitterly. “ How- 
ever ” — with an evident attempt to recover her self-posses- 
sion ” — “ I shall always be pleased to see you. Did — did — 
your father send you here to-night ? ” 

“ No,’’ said Janetta, remembering her errand. “ He does 
not know ” 

“ Does not know ? ” The pale woman again looked 
distressed. “ Oh,” she said, turning away with a sigh and 
biting her lip, “ then I shall not see you again.” 

“ Indeed you will,” said Janetta, warmly. “ My father 
would never keep me away from any one who wanted me 
— and one of my mother’s relations too. But I came to- 
night because I found this dear little boy outside your 
grounds. He tells me that his name is Julian Wyvis 
Brand, and that he is your son’s little boy.” 

For the first time Mrs. Brand turned her eyes upon the 
child. Hitherto she had not noticed him much, evidently 
thinking that he belonged to Janetta, and was also a visitor. 
But when she saw the boy’s sweet little face and large dark 
eyes, she turned pale, and made a gesture as of warning or 
dislike. 

“ Take him away ! take him away,” she said. “ Yes, I 
can see that it is her child — and his child too. She must 
be here too, and she has been the ruin of my boy’s life ! ” 
And then she sank into a chair and burst into an agony of 
tears. 

Janetta felt, with an inexpressible pang, that she had set 
foot in the midst of some domestic tragedy, the like of 
which had never come within her ken before. She was 
conscious of a little recoil from it, such as is natural to a 
young girl who has not learnt by experience the meaning 
of sorrow ; but the recoil was followed by a rush of that 
sympathy for which she had always shown a great capacity. 
Her instinct led her instantly to comfort and console. She 
knelt down beside the weeping woman and put one arm 
round her, drawing the little boy forward with her left hand 
as she spoke. 

“ Oh, don’t cry — don’t cry ! ” she murmured. “ He has 
come to be a joy and a comfort to you, and he wants you 
to love him too.” 

“ Won’t you love me, grandmamma ? ” said the sweet 
childish voice. And Julian laid his hand on the poor 
woman’s shaking knee. “ Don’t cry, grandmamma.” 


6 4 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


It was this scene which met the eyes ofWyvis Brand 
when he turned the handle of the drawing-room door and 
walked into the room. His mother weeping, with a child 
before her, and a dark-haired girl on her knees with one 
arm round the weeping woman and one round the lovely 
child. It was a pretty picture, and Wyvis Brand was not 
insensible to its beauty. 

He stood, looking from one to another of the group. 

“What does all this mean?” he asked, in somewhat 
harsh tones. 

His mother cried aloud and caught the child to her 
breast. 

“ Oh, Wyvis, be kind — be merciful,” she gasped. “ This 
is your child — your child. You will not drive him away. 
She has left him at our door.” 

Wyvis walked into the room, shut the door behind him, 
and leaned against it. 

“Upon my word,” he said, sarcastically, “you will give 
this lady — whose name I haven’t the pleasure of knowing 
— a very fine idea of our domestic relations. I am not 
such a brute, I hope, as to drive away my own child from 
my door ; but I certainly should like to know first whether 
it is my child ; and more particularly whether it is my son 
and heir, as I have no doubt that this young gentleman is 
endeavoring to persuade you. Did you bring the child 
here ?” he said, turning sharply to Janetta. 

“ I brought him into the house, certainly,” she said, 
rising from her knees and facing him. “ I found him out- 
side your fence ; and he told me that his name was Julian 
Wyvis Brand.” 

“ Pretty evidence,” said Mr. Brand, very rudely, as 
Janetta thought. “ Who can tell whether the child is not 
some beggar’s brat that has nothing to do with me ? ” 

“ Don’t you know your own little boy when you see 
him ? ” Janetta demanded, indignantly. 

“ Not I. I have not set eyes on him since he was a baby. 
Turn round, youngster, and let me have a look at you.” 

The child faced him instantly, much as Janetta herself 
had done. There was a fearless look in the baby face, 
an innocent, guileless courage in the large dark eyes, which 
must surely, thought Janetta, touch a father’s heart. But 
Wyvis Brand looked as if it would take a great deal to 
move him. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 65 

“ Where do you come from ? ” said Mr. Brand, sternly. 

“ From over the sea.” 

“ That’s no answer. Where from ? — what place? ” 

The boy looked at him without answering. 

“Are you dumb?” said Wyvis Brand, harshly. “Or 
have you not been taught what to say to that question ? 
Where do you come from, I say? ” 

Mrs. Brand murmured an inarticulate remonstrance ; 
Janetta’s eyes flashed an indignant protest. Both women 
thought that the boy would be dismayed and frightened. 
But he, standing steady and erect, did not flinch. His 
color rose and his hands clenched themselves at his side, 
but he did not take his eyes from his father’s face as he 
replied. 

“ I come with mammy from Paris.” 

“ And pray where is your mother ? ” 

“ Gone back again. She told me to find my father. 
Are you my father ? ” said the child, with the utmost fear- 
lessness. 

“ What is your name ? ” asked Wyvis, utterly disregard- 
ing the question. 

“ Julian Wyvis Brand.” 

“ He’s got the name pat enough,” said Wyvis, with a 
sardonic laugh. “ Well, where did you live in Paris? 
What sort of a house had you ? ” 

“ It was near the church,” said the little boy, gravely. 
“ The church with the big pillars round it. There was a 
bonnet shop under our rooms, and the rooms were all pink 
and white and gold — prettier than this,” he said, wistfully 
surveying the gloomy room in which he stood. 

“ And who took care of you when your mother was 
out ? ” asked Mr. Brand. Even Janetta could see, by the 
swift, subtle change that had passed over his face, that he 
recognized the description of the room. 

“ Susan. She was my nurse and mammy’s maid as well. 
She was English.” 

The man nodded and set his lips. “ He knows what to 
say,” he remarked. 

“ Oh, Wyvis ! ” exclaimed his mother, as if she could 
repress her feelings no longer ; “don’t you see how like 
he is to you ! — don’t you feel that he is your own child ? ” 

“ I confess the paternal feelings are not very strong in 
me,” said her son, dryly, “ but I have a fancy the boy is 

5 


66 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


mine for all that. Haven’t you a letter or a remembrance 
of some sort to give me, young man ? ” 

The boy shook his head. 

“ There may be something amongst his things — some 
book or trinket that you would remember,” said Janetta, 
speaking with timidity. Mr. Brand gave her a keen look, 
and Mrs. Brand accepted the suggestion with eagerness. 

, “ Oh, yes, yes, let us look. Have you a box, my dear, 

or a bag ? — oh, a bundle, only : give it me, and let me 
see what is inside.” 

“ It is unnecessary, mother,” said Wyvis, coldly. “ I 
am as convinced as you can wish me to be that this is 
Juliet’s child.” 

But Mrs. Brand, with trembling fingers and parted lips, 
was helping Janetta to unfasten the knots of the big hand- 
kerchief in which the child’s worldly goods were wrapped 
up. Wyvis Brand stood silently beside the two women, 
while little Julian pressed closer and pointed out his 
various treasures as they were one by one disclosed. 

“ That’s my book,” he said ; “ and that’s my best suit. 
And that’s — oh, I don’t know what that is. I don’t know 
why mammy put it in.” 

“/know,” said Wyvis Brand, half under his breath. 

The object that called forth this remark was a small 
morocco box, loosely wrapped in tissue-paper. Wyvis 
took it out of his mother’s hand, opened it, and stood 
silently gazing at its contents. It held a ring, as Janetta 
could easily see — a hoop of gold in which were three opals 
— not a very large or costly-looking trinket, but one which 
seemed to have memories or associations connected with 
it — to judge, at least, by the look on Wyvis Brand’s dark 
face. The women involuntarily held their breath as they 
glanced at him. 

At last with a short laugh, he slipped the little case into 
his pocket, and turned upon his heel. 

“ I suppose that this is evidence enough,” he said. “ It 
is a ring I once gave her— our engagement ring. Not one 
of much value, or you may be sure that she would never 
have sent it back.” 

“ Then you are convinced — you are certain ” His 

mother did not finish the sentence, but her son knew what 
she meant. 

“ That he is my son ? my wife’s child? Oh, yes, I am 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


67 


pretty sure of that. He had better be put to bed,” said 
Wyvis, carelessly. “ You can find a room for him some- 
where, I dare say.” 

“ There is the old nursery,” said Mrs. Brand, in breath- 
less eagerness. “ I looked into it yesterday; it is a nice, 
cheerful room — but it has not been used for a long 
time ” 

“ Do as you like ; don’t consult me,” said her son. “ I 
know nothing about the matter.” And he turned to the 
door, without another look towards his son. 

But little Julian was not minded to be treated in this way. 
His large eyes had been fixed upon his father with a 
puzzled and rather wistful expression. He now suddenly 
started from his position at Mrs. Brand’s knee, and pur- 
sued his father to the door. 

“Say good-night, please,” he said, pulling at Mr. Brand’s 
coat with a fearlessness which amused Janetta and startled 
Mrs. Brand. 

Wyvis looked down at him with a curious and indescrib- 
able expression. “ You’re not shy, at any rate,” he said, 
drily. “Well, good-night, voung man. What?” — the 
boy had held up his face to be kissed. 

The father hesitated. Then a better and softer feeling 
seemed to pass over his face. He stooped down and let 
the child put his arms round his neck, and press a warm 
kiss on his cheek. A short laugh then escaped his lips, as 
if he were half-ashamed of his own action. He went out 
of the room and shut the door behind him without looking 
round, and little Julian returned to his grandmother’s knee, 
looking well satisfied with himself. 

Janetta felt that she ought to go, and yet that she hardly 
liked trusting the child to the sole care of Mrs. Brand, who 
was evidently so much unnerved as to be of little use in 
deciding what was to be done with him. And at the first 
hint of departure grandmother and child both clung to her 
as if they felt her to be their sheet-anchor in storm. She 
was not allowed to go until she had inspected the nursery 
and pronounced it too damp for Julian’s use, and seen a 
little bed made up for the child in Mrs. Brand’s own room, 
where a fire was lighted, and everything looked cosey and 
bright. Poor little Julian was by this time half-dead with 
sleep ; and Janetta could not after all make up her mind to 
leave him until she had seen him tucked up and fast 


68 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


asleep. Then she bethought herself of Nora, and turned 
to go. Mrs. Brand, melted out of her coldness and shy 
reserve, caught her by the hand. 

“ My dear,” she said, “ what should we have done with- 
out you ? ” 

“ I don’t think that I have done very much,” said 
Janetta, smiling. 

“ You have done more than I could ever do. If I had 
brought that child to my son he would never have acknow- 
ledged it.” 

“ He does not look so hard,” said the girl involuntarily. 

“ He is hard, my dear — hard in his way — but he is a 
good son for all that — and he has had sore trouble, which 
has made him seem harder and sterner than he is. I can- 
not thank you enough for all that you have done to-day.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Brand, I have done nothing,” said Janetta, 
blushing at the elder woman’s praise. “ But may I come 
to see you and little Julian again? I should like so much 
to know how he gets on.” 

“You may come, dear, if your father will let you,” said 
Mrs. Brand, with rather a troubled look. “ It would be 
a blessing — a charity — to me : but I don’t know whether 
it would be right to let you — your father must decide.” 

And then Janetta took her leave. 

She was surprised to find that Mr. Brand was lounging 
about the hall as she came out, and that he not only opened 
the door for her but accompanied her to the garden gate. 
He did not speak for a minute or two, and Janetta, not 
seeing her way clear to any remarks of her own, wondered 
whether they were to walk side by side to the gate in utter 
silence. Presently, however, he said, abruptly. 

“ I have not yet heard to whom I am indebted for the 
appearance of that little boy in my house.” 

“ I am not exactly responsible,” said Janetta, “ I only 
found him outside and brought him in to make inquiries. 
My name is Janetta Colwyn.” 

“Colwyn? What? the doctor’s daughter ? ” 

“ Yes, the doctor’s daughter,” said Janetta, smiling 
frankly at him, “and your second cousin.” 

Wyvis Brand’s hand went up to his hat, which he lifted 
ceremoniously. 

“ I wish I had had the introduction earlier,” he said, in 
a much pleasanter tone. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 69 

Janetta could not exactly echo the sentiment, and there- 
fore maintained a discreet silence. 

“ You must have thought me a great brute,” said Wyvis, 
with some sensitiveness in his tone. 

“ Oh, no : I quite saw how difficult it was for you to 
understand who I was, and how it had all come about.” 

“ You saw a great deal, then.” 

“ Oh, I know that it sounds impertinent to say so,” 
Janetta answered, blushing a little and walking a trifle 
faster, “ but I did not mean it rudely, I assure you.” 

He seemed to take no notice. He was looking straight 
before him, with a somewhat sombre expression in his fine 
dark eyes. 

“ What you could not see,” he said, perhaps more to 
himself than to her, “ was what no one will ever guess. 
Nobody knows what the last few years have been to me. 
My mother has seen more of it than any one else, but even 
to her my life has been something of a mystery — a sealed 
book. You should remember this — remember all that I 
have passed through — before you blame me for the way in 
which I received that child to-day.” 

“ I did not blame you,” said Janetta, eagerly. “ I only 
felt that there was a great deal which I could not under- 
stand.” 

He turned his gloomy eyes upon her. “Just so,” he 
said. “ You cannot understand. And it is useless for you 
to try.” 

“Iam very sorry,” Janetta faltered, scarcely knowing 
why she said so. 

Wyvis laughed. “ Don’t trouble to be sorry over my 
affairs,” he said. “ They are not worth sorrow, I assure 
you. But — if I may make one request — will you kindly 
keep silence (except, of course, to your parents) about this 
episode ? I do not want people to begin gossiping about 
that unhappy woman who has the right, unfortunately, to 
call herself my wife.” 

Janetta promised, and with her promise the garden gate 
was reached, and the interview came to an end. 


70 


A TRUE FRIEND* 


CHAPTER IX. 

CONSULTATION. 

Janetta was rather surprised that Mr.Wyvis Brand did not 
offer to accompany her for at least part of her way home- 
wards, but she set down his remissness to absorption in his 
own rather complicated affairs. In this she was not mis- 
taken. Wyvis was far more depressed, and far more deeply 
buried in the contemplation of his difficulties, than any- 
body knew, and it completely escaped his memory until 
afterwards that he ought to have offered Miss Colwyn an 
escort. Janetta, however, was well used to going about 
the world alone, and she proceeded briskly to the spot 
where she had left Nora, and was much astonished to find 
that young person deep in conversation with a strange 
young man. 

But the young man had such an attractive face, such 
pleasant eyes, so courteous a manner, that she melted 
towards him before he had got through his first sentence. 
Nora, of course, ought to have introduced him ; but she 
was by no means well versed in the conventionalities of 
society, and therefore left him to do what he pleased, and 
to introduce himself. 

“I find that I am richer than I thought,” said Cuthbert 
Brand, “ in possessing a relative whom I never heard of 
before ! Miss Colwyn, are we not cousins ? My name is 
Brand — Cuthbert Brand.” 

Janetta’s face lighted up. “ I have just seen Mrs. Brand 
and your brother,” she said, offering him her hand. 

“ And, oh, Janetta ! ” cried Nora at once, “ do tell us 
what happened. Have you left the little boy at Brand 
Hall? And is it really Mr. Brand’s little boy? ” 

“ Yes, it is, and I have left him with his father,” said 
Janetta, gravely. “As it is getting late, Nora, we had 
better make the best of our way home.” 

“You will let me accompany you?” said Cuthbert, 
eagerly, while Nora looked a little bit inclined to pout at 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


7i 


her sister’s serious tone. “ It is, as you say, rather late ; 
and you have a long walk before you.” 

“ Thank you, but I could not think of troubling you. 
My sister and I are quite accustomed to going about by 
ourselves. We escort each other,” said Janetta, smiling, 
so that he should not set her down as utterly ungracious. 

“ I am a good walker,” said Cuthbert, coloring a little. 
He was half afraid that they thought his lameness a dis- 
qualification for accompanying them. “ I do my twenty 
miles a day quite easily.” 

“ Thank you,” Janetta said again. “ But I could not 
think of troubling you. Besides, Nora and I are so well 
used to these woods, and to the road between them and 
Beaminster, that we really do not require an escort.” 

A compromise was finally effected. Cuthbert walked 
with them to the end of the wood, and the girls were to be 
allowed to pursue their way together along the Beaminster 
road. He made himself very agreeable in their walk 
through the wood, and did not leave them without a hope 
that he might be allowed one day to call upon his newly- 
discovered cousins. 

“ He has adopted us, apparently, as well as yourself,” 
said Nora, as the two girls tramped briskly along the 
Beaminster road. “ He seems to forget that we are not 
his relations.” 

“ He is very pleasant and friendly,” said Janetta. 

“ But why did you say he might call?” pursued Nora. 
“I thought that you would say that we did not have 
visitors — or something of that sort.” 

“ My dear Nora ! But we do have visitors.” 

“ Yes ; but not of that kind.” 

“ Don’t you want him to come? ” said Janetta, in some 
wonderment; for it had struck her that Nora had shown 
an unusual amount of friendliness to Mr. Cuthbert Brand. 

“ No, I don’t,” said Nora, almost passionately. “ I doti't 
want to see him down in our shabby, untidy little drawing- 
room, to hear mamma talk about her expenses and papa’s 
difficulties — to see all that tribe of children in their old 
frocks — to see the muddle in which we live ! I don’t want 
him there at all.” 

“ Dear Nora, I don’t think that the Brands have been 
accustomed to live in any very grand way. I am sure the 
rooms I went into this evening were quite shabby — nearly 


72 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


as shabby as ours, and much gloomier. What does it 
matter ? ” 

“ It does not matter to you,” said Nora ; “ because you 
are their relation. It is different for us. You belong to 
them and we don’t.” 

“ I think you are quite wrong to talk in that way. It is 
nothing so very great and grand to be related to the 
Brands.” 

“ They are ‘ County ’ people,” said Nora, with a scorn- 
ful little emphasis on the word. “ They are like your grand 
Adairs : they would look down on a country doctor and 
his family, except just now and then when they could make 
them useful.” 

“ Look down on father ? What are you thinking of? ” 
cried Janetta, warmly. “ Nobody looks down on father, 
because he does good, honest work in the world, and every- 
body respects him ; but I am afraid that a good many 
people look down on the Brands. You know that as well 
as I do, Nora ; for you have heard people talk about them. 
They are not at all well thought of in this neighborhood. 
I don’t suppose there is much honor and glory to be gained 
by relationship to them.” 

In which Janetta was quite right, and showed her excel- 
lent sense. But Nora was not inclined to be influenced 
by her more sagacious sister. 

“ You may say what you like,” she observed; “but I 
know very well that it is a great advantage to be related to 
‘the County.’ Poor papa has no connections worth 
speaking of, and mamma’s friends are either shopkeepers 
or farmers ; but your mother was the Brands’ cousin, and 
see how the Adairs took you up ! They would never have 
made a fuss over me .” 

“ What nonsense you talk, Nora ! ” said Janetta, in a 
disgusted tone. 

“ Nonsense or not, it is true,” said Nora, doggedly ; 
“ and as long as people look down upon us, I don’t want 
any of your fine friends and relations in Gwynne Street.” 

Janetta did not condescend to argue the point ; she con- 
tented herself with telling her sister of Wyvis Brand’s 
desire that the story of his wife’s separation from him 
should not be known, and the two girls agreed that it 
would be better to mention their evening’s adventure only 
to their father. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


73 


It was quite dark when they reached home, and they 
entered the house in much trepidation, fearing a volley of 
angry words from Mrs. Colwyn. But to their surprise and 
relief Mrs. Colwyn was not at home. The children ex- 
plained that an invitation to supper had come to her from 
a neighbor, and that “ after a great deal of fuss,” as one of 
them expressed it, she had accepted it and gone, leaving 
word that she should not be back until eleven o’clock, and 
that the children were to go to bed at their usual hour. It 
was past the younger children’s hour already, and they of 
course were jubilant. 

The elder sisters set to work instantly to get the young 
ones into their beds, but this was a matter of some difficulty. 
A general inclination to uproariousness prevailed in Mrs. 
Colwyn’s absence, and it must be confessed that neither 
Janetta nor Nora tried very hard to repress the little ones’ 
noise. It was a comfort to be able, for once, to enjoy 
themselves without fear of Mrs. Colwyn’s perpetual snarl 
and grumble. A most exciting pillow-fight was going on 
in the upstairs regions, and here Janetta was holding her 
own as boldly as the boldest, when the sound of an open- 
ing door made the combatants pause in their mad career. 

“ What’s that? The front door ? It’s mamma ! ” cried 
Georgie, with conviction. 

“ Get into bed, Tiny ! ” shouted Joey. Tiny began to 
cry. 

“ Nonsense, children,” said Nora, with an air of author- 
ity. “ You know that it can’t be mamma. It is papa, of 
course, coming in for his supper. And one of us must go 
down.” 

“ I’ll go,” said Janetta, hurriedly. “ I want a little talk 
with him, you know.” 

There was a general chorus of “ Oh, don’t go, Janetta ! ” 
“ Do stay ! ” “ It will be no fun when you are gone 1” 

which stimulated Nora to a retort. 

“Well, I must say you are all very polite,” she said. 
“ One would think that I was not here at all ! ” 

“You are not half such good fun as Janetta,” said Joey. 
“You don’t throw yourself into everything as she does.” 

“ I must throw myself into giving father his supper, I’m 
afraid,” said Janetta, laughing, “ so good-mght, children, 
and do go to bed quietly now, for I don’t think father will 
like such a dreadful noise.” 


74 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


She was nearly choked by the fervent embraces they all 
bestowed upon her before she went downstairs. Nora, 
who stood by, rolling up the ribbon that she had taken 
from Tiny’s hair, felt a little pang of jealousy. Why was 
it that everyone loved Janetta and valued her so much? 
Not for what she did, because her share of household duty 
was not greater than that of Nora, but for the way in which 
she did it. It always seemed such a pleasure to her to do 
anything for any one — to serve another : never a toil, never 
a hardship, always a deep and lasting pleasure. To Nora 
it was often a troublesome matter to help her sister or her 
schoolboy brother, to attend on her mother, or to be 
thoughtful of her father’s requirements; but it was never 
troublesome to Janetta. And as Nora thought of all this, 
the tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It seemed so 
easy to Janetta to be good, she thought ! But perhaps it 
was no easier to Janetta than to other people. 

Janetta ran down to the dining-room, where she found 
her father surveying with a rather dissatisfied air the cold 
and scanty repast which was spread out for him. Mr. 
Colwyn was so much out that his meals had to be irregular, 
and he ate them just when he had a spare half hour. On 
this occasion he had been out since two o’clock in the 
afternoon, and had not had time even for a cup of tea. 
He had been attending a hopeless case, moreover, and 
one about which he had been anxious for some weeks. 
Fagged, chilled, and dispirited, it was no wonder that he 
had returned home in not the best of tempers, and that he 
was a little disposed to find fault when Janetta made her 
appearance. 

“ Where is mamma ? ” he began. “ Out, I suppose, or 
the children would not be making such a racket over- 
head.” t 

“ They are going to be quiet now, dear father,” said his 
daughter, kissing him, “ and mamma has gone out to 
supper at Mrs. Maitland’s. I am going to have mine with 
you if you will let me.” 

“ And is this what you are going to have for your 
supper? ” said Mr. Colwyn, half ruefully, half jestingly, as 
he glanced again at the table, where some crusts of bread 
reposed peacefully on one dish, and a scrag of cold mutton 
on another. “ After your sojourn at Miss Polehampton’s 
and among the Adairs, I suppose you don’t know how to 
cook, Jenny ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


75 


“ Indeed I do, father, and I'm going to scramble some 
eggs, and make some coffee this very minute. I am sorry 
the table is not better arranged, but I have been out, and 
was just having a little game with the children before they 
went to bed. If you will sit down by the fire, I shall be 
ready in a very few minutes, and then I can tell you about 
a wonderful adventure that Nora and I had this evening in, 
the Beaminster wood.” 

“ You should not roam about those woods so much by 
yourselves ; they are too lonely,” said Mr. Colwyn ; but 
he said it very mildly, and dropped with an air of weari- 
ness into the armchair that Janetta had wheeled forward 
for him. “ Well, well ! don’t hurry yourself, child. I 
shall be glad of a few minutes’ rest before I begin my 
supper.” 

Janetta in a big white apron, Janetta flitting backwards 
and forwards between kitchen and dining-room, with flushed 
cheeks and brightly shining eyes, was a pretty sight — “ a 
sight to make an old man young,” thought Mr. Colwyn, 
as he watched her furtively from beneath his half-closed 
eyelids. She looked so trim, so neat, so happy in her 
work, that he would be hard to satisfy who did not admire 
her, even though she was not what the world calls strictly 
beautiful. She succeeded so well in her cooking opera- 
tions, with which she would not allow the servant to inter- 
meddle, that in a very short time a couple of dainty dishes 
and some coffee smoked upon the board ; and Janetta 
bidding her father come to the table, placed herself near 
him, and smilingly dispensed the savory concoction. 

She would not enter upon any account of her evening’s 
work until she felt sure that the wants of her father’s 
inner man were satisfied ; but when supper was over, and 
his evening pipe — the one luxury in the day he allowed 
himself — alight, she drew up a hassock beside his chair 
and prepared for what she called “a good long chat.” 

Opportunities for such a chat with her father were rather 
rare in that household, and Janetta meant to make the 
most of this one. Nora had good-naturedly volunteered 
to stay away from the dining-room, so as to give Janetta 
the chance that she wished for ; and as it was now barely 
ten o’clock, Janetta knew that she might perhaps have an 
hour of her father’s companionship — if, at least, he were 
not sent for before eleven o’clock. At eleven he would 
probably go to Mrs. Maitland’s to fetch his wife home. 


7 6 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Well, Janet, and what have you to tell me ? ” he said 
kindly, as he stretched out his slippered feet to the blaze, 
and took down his pipe from the mantel-piece. The lines 
had cleared away from his face as if by magic ; there was 
a look of rest and peace upon his face that his daughter 
liked to see. She laid her hand on his knee and kept it 
there while she told him of her experiences that evening at 
Brand Hall. 

Mr. Colwyn’s eyebrows went up as he listened. His 
face expressed astonishment, and something very like per- 
plexity. But he heard the whole story out before he said 
a word. 

“ Well, you have put your head into the lion’s den ! ” he 
said at last, in a half-humorous tone. 

“What I want to know is,” said Janetta, “why it is 
thought to be a lion’s den ! I don’t mean that I have 
heard the expression before, but I have gathered in differ- 
ent ways an impression that people avoid the house ” 

“ The family, not the house, Janet ! ” 

“ Of course I mean the family, father, dear. What have 
they done that they should be shunned ? ” 

“ There is a good deal against them in the eyes of the 
world. Your poor mother, Janetta, always stood up for 
them, and said that they were more sinned against than 
sinning.” 

“ They ? But these young men were not grown up 
then ? ” 

“ No ; it was their father and ” 

Mr. Colwyn stopped short and seemed as if he did not 
like to go on. 

“ Tell me, father,” said Janetta, coaxingly. 

“ Well, child, I don’t know that you ought to hear old 
scandals. But you are too wise to let them harm you. 
Brand, the father of these two young fellows, married a 
barmaid, the daughter of a low publican in the neighbor- 
hood.” 

“ What ! The Mrs. Brand that I saw to-day ? She a 
barmaid — that quiet, pale, subdued-looking woman? ” 

“ She has had trouble enough to make her look sub- 
dued, poor soul ! She was a handsome girl then ; and I 
daresay the world would have overlooked the marriage in 
time if her character had been untarnished. But stories 
which I need not repeat were afloat ; and from what I 
have lately heard they are not yet forgotten.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


77 


“ After all these years ! Oh, that does seem hard,” 
said Janetta, sympathetically. 

u Well — there are some things that the world does not 
forgive, Janet. I have no doubt that the poor woman is 
much more worthy of respect and kindness than her wild 
sons ; and yet the fact remains that if Wyvis Brand had 
come here with his brother alone, he would have been 
received everywhere, and entertained and visited and 
honored like any other young man of property and toler- 
able repute ; but as he has brought his mother with him, 
I am very much afraid that many of the nicest people in 
the county mean to ‘ cut ’ him.” 

“ It is very unfair, surely.” 

“Yes, it is unfair; but it is the way of the world, 
Janetta. If a woman’s reputation is ever so slightly 
blackened, she can never get it fair and white again. 
Hence, my dear, I am a little doubtful as to whether you 
must go to Brand Hall again, as long as poor Mrs. Brand 
is there.” 

“ Oh, father, and I promised to go ! ” 

“ You must not make rash promises another time, my 
child.” 

“ But she wants me, father — she is so lonely and so 
sad ? ” 

“ I am sorry, my Janet, but I don’t know ” 

“ Oh, do let me, father. I shall not be harmed ; and I 
don’t mind what the world says.” 

“But perhaps / mind,” said Mr. Colwyn, quaintly. 


CHAPTER X. 

MARGARET. 

Janetta looked so rueful at this remark that her father 
laughed a little and pulled her ear. 

“ I am not given to taking much notice of what the 
world says,” he told her, “ and if I thought it right for you 
to go to Brand Hall I should take no notice of town talk ; 
but I think that I can’t decide this matter without seeing 
Mrs. Brand for myself.” 

“ I thought you had seen her, father?” 


7 * 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ For ten minutes or so, only. They wanted to ask me 
a question about the healthiness of Brand Hall, drains, 
and all that kind of thing, That young Brand struck me 
as a very sullen-looking fellow.” 

“ His face lightens up when he talks,” said Janetta, 
coloring and feeling hurt for a moment, she could not have 
told why. 

14 He did not talk to me,” said her father, drily. “ I 
am told that the other son has pleasanter manners.” 

“Cuthbert? Oh, yes,” Janetta said, quickly. “ He is 
much more amiable at first sight ; he made himself very 
agreeable to Nora and me.” And forthwith she related 
how the second son had made acquaintance with her 
sister and herself. 

Mr. Colwyn did not look altogether pleased. 

“ H’m ! — they seem very ready to cultivate us,” he said, 
with a slight contraction of the brow. “ Their father 
used not to know that I existed. Janet, I don’t care for 
Nora to see much of them. You I can trust ; but she is a 
bit of a featherbrain, and one never knows what may 
happen. Look to it.” 

“ I will, father.” 

“And I will call on Mrs. Brand and have a chat with 
her. Poor soul ! I daresay she has suffered. Still that 
does not make her a fit companion for my girls.” 

“ If I could be of any use to her, father ” 

“ I know that’s all you think of, Janet. You are a good 
child — always wanting to help others. But we must not 
let the spirit of self-sacrifice run away with you, you 
know.” 

He pinched her cheek softly as he spoke, and his daugh- 
ter carried the long supple fingers of his hand to her lips 
and kissed them tenderly. 

“ Which reminds me,” he went on rather inconsequently, 
“ that I saw another of your friends to-day. A friend 
whom you have not mentioned for some time, Janetta.” 

“Who was that? ” asked Janetta, a little puzzled by his 
tone. 

“ Another friend whom I don’t quite approve of,” said 
her father, in the same half-quizzical way, “ though from a 
different reason. If poor Mrs. Brand is not respectable 
enough, this friend of yours, Janet, is more than respect- 
able ; ultra-respectable — aristocratic even ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


79 


“ Margaret Adair ! ” cried Janetta, flushing to the very 
roots of her hair. “ Did you see her, father ? Has she 
quite forgotten me ? ” And the tears stood in her eyes. 

“ I did not see Miss Margaret Adair, my dear,” said her 
father kindly. “ I saw her mother, Lady Caroline.” 

“ Did you speak to her, father ? ” 

“She stopped her ponies and spoke to me in the High 
Street, Janet. She certainly has very winning manners.” 

“ Oh, has she not, father ! ” Janetta’s cheeks glowed. 
“ She is perfectly charming, I think. I do not believe that 
she could do anything disagreeable or unkind.” 

Mr. Colwyn shook his head, with a little smile. “ I am 
not so sure of that, Janetta. These fine ladies sometimes 
do very cold and cruel things with a perfectly gracious 
manner.” 

“ But Lady Caroline would not,” said Janetta, coax- 
ingly. “ She was quite kind and sweet to me all the time 
that I stayed at her house, although ” 

“Although afterwards,” said Mr. Colwyn, shrewdly, 
“ she could let you stay here for weeks without seeming to 
remember you, or coming near you for an hour ! ” 

Janetta’s cheeks crimsoned, but she did not reply. 
Loyal as she was to her friend, she felt that there was not 
much to be said for her at that moment. 

“You are a good friend,” said her father, in a half- 
teasing, half-affectionate tone. “ You don’t like me to say 
anything bad of her, do you? Well, my dear, for your 
comfort I must tell you that she did her best to-day to 
make up for past omissions. She spoke very pleasantly 
about you.” 

“ Did she say why — why ” Janetta could not com- 

plete the sentence. 

“Why they had not written or called? Well, she gave 
some sort of an explanation. Miss Adair had been unwell 
— she had had a cold or something which looked as if it 
might turn to fever, and they did not like to write until 
she was better.” 

“ I knew there was some good reason ! ” said Janetta 
fervently. 

“ It is well to take a charitable view of things,” returned 
her father, rather drily ; but, seeing her look of protest, he 
changed his tone. “ Well, Lady Caroline spoke very 
kindly, my dear, I must acknowledge that. She wants 
you to go over to Helmsley Court to-morrow.” 


8o 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Can I go, father ? ” 

Mr. Colwyn made a grimace. “ Between your dis- 
reputable friends and your aristocratic ones, I’m in a 
difficulty, Janet.” 

“ Don’t say so, father dear ! ” 

“ Well, I consented,” said Mr. Colwyn, in rather a 
grudging tone. “ She said that she would send her car- 
riage for you to-morrow at noon, and that she would send 
you back again between six and seven. Her daughter was 
most anxious to see you, she said.” 

Janetta lifted up a happy face. “ I knew that Margaret 
would be true to me. I never doubted her.” 

Mr. Colwyn watched her silently for a moment, then he 
put his hand upon her head, and began smoothing the 
thick black locks. “ You have a very faithful nature, my 
Janet,” he said, tenderly, “ and I am afraid that it will 
suffer a great many shocks in this work-a-day world of ours. 
Don’t let it lead you astray, my child. Remember there 
is a point at which faithfulness may degenerate into sheer 
obstinacy.” 

“ I don’t think it will ever do so with me.” 

“ Well, perhaps not, for you have a clear head on those 
young shoulders of yours. But you must be careful.” 

“ And I may go to Lady Caroline’s, father? ” 

“ Yes, my dear, you may. And now I must go : my time 
is up. I have had a very pleasent hour, my Janet.” 

As she raised herself to receive her father’s kiss, she 
felt a glow of pleasure at his words. It was not often that 
he spoke so warmly. He was a man of little speech on 
ordinary occasions : only when he was alone with his best- 
loved daughter, Janetta, did he ever break forth into ex- 
pressions of affection. His second marriage had been in 
some respects a failure ; and it did not seem as if he re- 
garded his younger children with anything approaching 
the tenderness which he bestowed upon Janetta. Good- 
humored tolerance was all that he gave to them : a deep 
and almost passionate love had descended from her mother 
to Janetta. 

He went out to fetch his wife home from her supper- 
party ; and Janetta hastened up to her room, not being 
anxious to meet her stepmother on her return, in the state 
of rampant vanity and over-excitement to which an assem- 
bly of her friends usually brought her. It could not be said 

V 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


81 


that Mrs. Colwyn actually drank too much wine or beer 
or whisky ; and yet there was often a sensation abroad 
that she had taken just a little more than she could bear ; 
and her stepdaughter was sensitively aware of the fact. 
From Nora’s slighting tone when she had lately spoken of 
her mother, Janetta conjectured that the sad truth of Mrs. 
Colwyn’s danger had dawned upon the girl’s mind also, 
and it certainly accounted for some new lines in Mr. Col- 
wyn’s face, and for some additional streaks of white in his 
silvering hair. Not a word had been said on the subject 
amongst the members of the family, but Janetta had an un- 
easy feeling that there were possibly rocks ahead. 

At this moment, however, the prospect of seeing her 
dear Margaret again completely obliterated any thought 
of her stepmother from Janetta’s mind ; and when she was 
snugly ensconced in her own little, white bed, she could 
not help shedding a few tears of relief and joy. For 
Margaret’s apparent fickleness had weighed heavily on 
Janetta’s mind ; and she now felt proud of the friend in 
whom she had believed in spite of appearances, and of 
whose faithfulness she had steadily refused to hear a doubt. 
These feelings enabled her to bear with cheerfulness some 
small unpleasantnesses next morning from her stepmother 
on the subject of her visit. “ Of course you’ll be too grand 
to do a hand’s turn about the house when you come back 
again from Helmsley Court ! ” said Mrs. Colwyn, snap- 
pishly. 

“ Dear mamma, when I am only going for half a day ! ” 

“ Oh, I know the ways of girls. Because Miss Adair, 
your fine friend, does nothing but sit in a drawing-room 
all day, you’ll be sure to think that you must needs follow 
her example ! ” 

“ I hope Margaret will do something beside sit in a 
drawing-room,” said Janetta, with her cheery laugh ; 
“because I am afraid that she might find that a little dull.” 

But in spite of her cheeriness her spirits were perceptibly 
lowered when she set foot in the victoria that was sent for 
her at noon. Her stepmother’s way of begrudging her 
the friendship which school-life had bestowed upon Janetta 
was as distasteful to her as Miss Polehampton’s convic- 
tion of its unsuitability had been. And for one moment 
the tears of vexation gathered in her brown eyes as she 
was driving away from the shabby little house in Gwynne 

6 


8 2 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Street ; and she had resolutely to drive away unwelcome 
thoughts before she could resign herself to enjoyment of 
her visit 

The day was hot and close, and the narrow streets of 
old Beaminster were peculiarly oppressive. It was delight- 
ful to bowl swiftly along the smooth high road, and to 
enter the cool green shades of the park round Helmsley 
Court. “ How pleasant for Margaret to live here always ! ” 
Janetta said to herself with generous satisfaction in her 
friend’s good fortune. “ I wonder what she would do in 
Gwynne Street ! ” And then Janetta laughed, and felt 
that what suited her would be very inappropriate to 
Margaret Adair. 

Janetta’s unselfish admiration for her friend was as simple 
as it was true, and it was never alloyed by envy or toady- 
ism. She would have been just as pleased to see Mar- 
garet in a garret as in a palace, supposing that Margaret 
were pleased with the garret. And it was with almost 
passionate delight that she at length flung herself into her 
friend’s arms, and felt Margaret’s soft lips pressed to her 
brown flushed cheeks. 

“ Margaret ! Oh, it is delightful to see you again ! ” she 
exclaimed. 

“ You poor darling : did you think that we were never 
going to meet ? ” said Margaret. “ I have been so sorry, 
dear ” 

“ I knew that you would come to see me, or send for 
me as soon- as you could,” said Janetta quickly. “ I 
trusted you, Margaret.” 

“ I have had such a bad cold,” Margaret went on, still 
excusing herself a little, as it seemed to Janetta. “ I have 
had to stay in two rooms for nearly a fortnight, and I went 
down to the drawing-room only last night.” 

“ I wish I could have nursed you ! Don’t you re- 
member how I nursed you through one of your bad colds 
at school ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed. I wish you could have nursed me now ; 
but mamma was afraid that I had caught measles or scarlet 
fever or something, and she said it would not be right to 
send for you.” 

Janetta was almost pained by the accent of continued 
excuse. 

“ Of course, dear, I understand,” she said, pressing her 


A TRUE FRIEND . 83 

friend's arm caressingly. “ I am so sorry you have been 
ill. You look quite pale, Margaret." 

The two girls were standing in Margaret's sitting-room, 
adjoining her bedroom. Margaret was dressed completely 
in white, with long white ribbons floating amongst the 
dainty folds of her attire ; but the white dress, exquisitely 
as it was fashioned, was less becoming to her than usual, 
for her face had lost a little of its shell-like bloom. She 
turned at Janetta’s words and surveyed herself a little 
anxiously in a long glass at her side. 

“ I do look pale in this dress," she said. “ Shall I 
change it, Janetta?" 

“ Oh, no, dear,” Janetta answered, in some surprise. 
“ It is a charming dress.” 

u But I do not like to look so pale,” said Margaret, 
gravely. “ I think I will ring for Villars.” 

“ You could not look nicer — to me — in any dress ! ” 
exclaimed her ardent admirer. 

“ You dear — oh, yes ; but there may be visitors at 
luncheon.” 

“ I thought you would be alone,” faltered Janetta, with 
a momentary glance at her own neat and clean, but plain, 
little cotton frock. 

“ Well, perhaps there will be only one person beside 
yourself,” said Margaret, turning aside her long neck to 
catch a glimpse of the shining coils behind. “ And I don’t 
know that it matters — it is only Sir Philip Ashley.” 

“ Oh, I remember him. He was here when we came 
back from Brighton.” 

“ He is often here.” 

“ What lovely flowers ! ” Janetta exclaimed, rather to 
break a pause that followed than because she had looked 
particularly at a bouquet that filled a large white vase on 
a table. But the flowers really were lovely, and Margaret’s 
face expressed some satisfaction. “ Did they come out of 
your garden ? ” 

“ No, Sir Philip sent them.” 

“ Oh, how nice ! ” said Janetta. But she was a little 
surprised too. Had not the Adairs plenty of flowers with- 
out receiving contributions from Sir Philip’s conservatories ? 

“ And you have a dog, Margaret?” — as a pretty little 
white Esquimaux dog came trotting into the room, “ What 
a darling ! with a silver collar, too ! ” 


84 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“Yes, I like a white dog,” said Margaret, tranquilly. 
“ Mamma’s poodle snaps at strangers, so Sir Philip thought 
that it would be better for me to have a dog of my own.” 

Sir Philip again ! Janetta felt as if she must ask 
another question or two, especially when she saw that her 
friend’s white eyelids had been lowered, and that a delicate 
flush was mantling the whiteness of her cheek ; but she 
paused, scarcely knowing how to begin ; and in the pause, 
the gong for luncheon sounded, and she was (somewhat 
hastily, she fancied) led downstairs. 

Lady Caroline and Mr. Adair received their visitor with 
great civility. Sir Philip came forward to give her a very 
kindly greeting. Their behavior was so cordial that 
Janetta could hardly believe that she had doubted their 
liking for her. She was not experienced enough as yet to 
see that all this apparent friendliness did not mean any- 
thing but the world’s way of making things pleasant all 
round. She accepted her host’s attentions with simple 
pleasure, and responded to his airy talk so brightly that he 
lost no time in assuring his wife after luncheon that his 
daughter’s friend was really “a very nice little girl.” 

After luncheon, Janetta thought at first that she was 
again going to be defrauded of a talk with her friend. 
Margaret was taken possession of by Sir Philip, and walked 
away with him into a conservatory to gather a flower ; Mr. 
Adair disappeared, and Janetta was left for a few moments’ 
conversation with Lady Caroline. Needless to remark, 
Lady Caroline had planned this little interview ; she had 
one or two things that she wanted to say to Miss Colwyn. 
And she really did feel kindly towards the girl, because — 
after all — she was Margaret’s friend, and the mother was 
ready to allow Margaret her own way to a very great 
extent. 

“ Dear Miss Colwyn,” she began, “ I have been so sorry 
that we could not see more of you while our poor Margaret 
was ill. Now I hope things will be different.” 

Janetta remarked that Lady Caroline was very kind. 

“ I have been thinking of a method by which I hoped 
to bring you together a little more — after the holidays. 
Of course we are going away very soon now — to Scotland ; 
and we shall probably not return until October; but when 
that time comes — my dear Miss Colwyn, I am sure you 
will not be offended by the question I am going to ask ? ” 

“Oh, no,” said Janetta, hastily. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


85 


“ Are you intending to give any singing or music lessons 
in the neighborhood?” 

“ If I can get any pupils, I shall be only too glad to do 
so.” 

“ Then will you begin with dear Margaret? ” 

“ Margaret ? ” said Janetta, in some astonishment. “ But 
Margaret has had the same teaching that I have had, 
exactly ! ” 

“ She needs somebody to help her. She has not your 
talent or your perseverance. And she would so much 
enjoy singing with you. I trust that you will not refuse 
us, Miss Colwyn.” 

“ I shall be very glad to do anything that I can for 
Margaret,” said Janetta, flushing. 

“ Thank you so much. Once a week then — when we 
come back again. And about terms ” 

“ Oh, Lady Caroline, I shall be only too glad to sing 
with Margaret at any time without ” 

“ Without any talk about terms ? ” said Lady Caroline, 
with a charming smile of comprehension. “ But that, my 
dear, I could not possibly allow. No, we must conduct 
the matter on strictly business-like principles, or Mr. 
Adair would be very much displeased with me. Suppose 

we say ” And she went on to suggest terms which 

Janetta was too much confused to consider very attentively, 
and agreed to at once. It was only afterwards that she 
discovered that they were lower than any which she should 
ever have thought of suggesting for herself, and that she 
should have to blush for Lady Caroline’s meanness in 
mentioning them to her father ! But at present she saw 
nothing amiss. 

Lady Caroline went on smoothly. “ I want her to make 
the most of her time, because she may not be able to study 
up by-and-bye. She will come out this winter, and I shall 
take her to town in the spring. I do not suppose that I 
shall ever have another opportunity — if, at least, she 
marries as early as she seems likely to do.” 

“ Margaret ! Marry ! ” ejaculated Janetta. She had 
scarcely thought of such a possibility. 

“ It is exceedingly probable,” said Lady Caroline, rather 
coldly, “ that she will marry Sir Philip Ashley. It is a 
perfectly suitable alliance.” 

It sounded as if she spoke of a royal marriage ! 


86 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Janetta’s promises. 

“ But please,” Lady Caroline proceeded, “ do not mention 
what I have said to anyone, least of all to Margaret. She 
is so sensitive that I should not like her to know what I 
have said.” 

“ I will not say anything,” said Janetta. 

And then Lady Caroline’s desire for conversation seemed 
to cease. She proposed that they should go in search of 
her daughter, and Jane'tta followed her to the conservatory 
in some trouble and perplexity of mind. It struck her that 
Margaret was not looking very well pleased when they 
arrived — perhaps, she thought, because of their appear- 
ance — and that Sir Philip had a very lover-like air. He 
was bending forward a little to take a white flower from 
Margaret’s hand, and Janetta could not help a momentary 
smile when she saw the expression of his face. The ear- 
nest dark eyes were full of tenderness, which possibly he 
did not wish to conceal. Janetta could never doubt but 
that he loved her “ rare pale Margaret ” from the very bot- 
tom of his heart. 

The two moved apart as Lady Caroline and Janetta came 
in. Lady Caroline advanced to Sir Philip and walked 
away with him, while Margaret laid her hand on Janetta’s 
arm and led her off to her own sitting-room. She scarcely 
spoke until they were safely ensconced there together, and 
then, with a half-pouting, mutinous expression on her softly 
flushed face — 

“'Janetta. ” she began, “ there is something I must tell 
you.” 

“ Yes, dear? ” 

“ You saw Sir Philip in the conservatory ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ I can’t think why he is so foolish,” said Margaret ; 
“ but actually, Janetta — he wants to marry me.” 

“Am I to call him foolish for that?” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


*7 


“Yes, certainly. I am too young. I want to see a 
little more of the world. He is not at all the sort of man 
that I want to marry.” 

“ Why not? ” said Janetta, after waiting a little while. 

“ Oh,” said Margaret, with an intonation that — for her 
— was almost petulant ; “ he is so absurdly suitable ! ” 

“ Absurdly suitable, dear Margaret ? ” 

“ Yes. Everything is so neatly arranged for us. He is 
the right age, he has the right income, the right views, the 
right character — he is even ” — said Margaret, with increas- 
ing indignation — “ even the right height ! It is absurd. 
I am not to have any will of my own in the matter, because 
it is all so beautifully suitable. I am to be disposed of like 
a slave I ” 

Here was indeed a new note of rebellion. 

“ Your father and mother would never make you marry 
a man whom you did not like,” said Janetta, a little doubt- 
fully. 

“ I don’t know. Papa would not ; but mamma ! 1 am 

afraid mamma will try. And it is very hard to do what 
mamma does not like.” 

“ But you could explain to her ” 

“ I have nothing to explain,” said Margaret, arching her 
delicate brows. “ I like Sir Philip very well. I respect 
him very much. I think his house and his position would 
suit me exceedingly well ; and yet I do not want to marry 
him. It is so unreasonable of me, mamma says. And I 
feel that it is ; and yet — what can I do ? ” 

“ There is — nobody — else ? ” hazarded Janetta. 

Margaret opened her lovely eyes to their fullest extent. 
“ Dearest Janetta, who else could there be ? Who else 
have I seen? I have been kept in the schoolroom until 
now — when I am to be married to this most suitable man ! 
Now, confess, Janetta, would you like it ? Do your people 
want to marry you to anybody? ” 

“ No, indeed,” said Janetta, smiling. “ Nobody has 
expressed any desire that way. But really I don’t know 
what to say, Margaret ; because Sir Philip does seem so 
perfectly suitable — and you say you like him ? ” 

“Yes, but I only like him; I don’t love him.” Mar- 
garet leaned back in her chair, crossed her hands behind 
her golden head, and looked dreamily at the opposite wall. 
“ You know I think one ought to love the man one marries 


88 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


— don’t you think so ? I have always thought of loving 
once and once only — like Paul and Virginia, you know, or 
even Romeo and Juliet — and of giving all for love ! That 
would be beautiful ! ” 

“ Yes, it would. But it would be very hard too,” said 
Janetta, thinking how lovely Margaret looked, and what a 
heroine of romance — what a princess of dreams — she would 
surely be some day. And she, poor, plain, brown, little 
Janetta ! There was probably no romance in store for her 
at all. 

But Life holds many secrets in her hand ; and perhaps 
it was Janetta and not Margaret for whom a romance was 
yet in store. 

“ Hard? Do you call it hard ? ” Margaret asked, with 
a curiously exalted expression, like that of a saint absorbed 
in mystic joys. “ It would be most easy, Janetta, to give 
up everything for love.” 

“ I don’t know,’’ said Janetta — for once unsympathetic. 
“ Giving up everything means a great deal. Would you 
like to go away from Helmsley Court, for instance, and live 
in a dingy street with no lady’s maid — only a servant of all- 
work — on three hundred a year ? ” 

“ I think I could do anything for a man whom I loved,** 
sighed Margaret ; “ but I cannot feel as if I should ever 
care enough for Sir Philip Ashley to do it for him.’ 

“ What sort of a man would you prefer for a husDand, 
then? ” asked Janetta. 

“ Oh, a man with a history. A man about whom there 
hung a melancholy interest — a man like Rochester in ‘ Jane 
Eyre ’ ’ 

“ Not a very good-tempered person, I’m afraid ! ” 

“ Oh, who cares about good temper? ” 

“ I do, for one. Really, Margaret, you draw a picture 
which is just like my cousin, Wyvis Brand.” 

Janetta was sorry when she had said the words. Mar- 
garet’s arms came down from behind her head, and her 
eyes were turned to her friend’s face with an immediate 
awakening of interest. 

“ Mr. Brand, of Brand Hall, you mean ? I remember 
you told me that he was your cousin. So you have met 
him? And he is like Rochester?” 

“ I did not say that exactly,” said Janetta, becoming 
provoked with herself. “ I only said that you spoke of a 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


*9 

rather melancholy sort of man, with a bad temper, and I 
thought that the description applied very well to Mr. 
Brand.” 

“What is he like? Dark?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Handsome ? ” 

“ I suppose so. I do not like any face, however hand- 
some, that is disfigured by a scowl.” 

“ Oh, Janetta, how charming ! Tell me some more about 
him ; I am so much interested.” 

“ Margaret, don’t be silly ! Wyvis Brand is a very dis- 
agreeable man — not a good man either, I believe — and I 
hope you will never know him.” 

“ On the contrary,” said Margaret, with a new wilful 
light in her eyes, “ I intend mamma to call.” 

* s Lady Caroline will be too wise.” 

“ Why should people not call upon the Brands ? I hear 
the same story everywhere — ‘ Oh, no, we do not intend to 
call.’ Is there really anything wrong about them ? ” 

Janetta felt some embarrassment. Had not she put 
nearly the same question to her own father the night be- 
fore ? But she could not tell Margaret Adair what her 
father had said to her. 

“ If there were — and I do not know that there is — you 
could hardly expect me to talk about it, Margaret,” she 
said, with some dignity. 

Margaret’s good breeding came to her aid at once. “ I 
beg your pardon, dear Janetta. I was talking carelessly. 

I will say no more about the Brands. But I must remark 
that it was you who piqued my curiosity. Otherwise there 
is nothing extraordinary in the fact of two young men set- 
tling down with their mother in a country house, is there? ” 

‘ Nothing at all.” 

“ And I am not likely to see anything of them. But, 
Janetta,” said Margaret, reverting to her own affairs, “ you 
do not sympathize with me as I thought you would. Would 
not you think it wrong to marry where you did not love ? 
Seriously, Janetta?” 

“ Yes, seriously, I should,” said Janetta, her face growing 
graver, and her eyes lighting up. “ It is a profanation of 
marriage to take for your husband a man whom you don’t 
love with your whole heart. Oh, yes, Margaret, you are 
quite, quite right in that — but I am sorry too, because Sir 
Philip seems so nice.” 


9 o 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ And, Janetta, dear, you will help me, will you not ? ” 

“Whenever I can, Margaret? But what can I do for 
you ? ” 

“ You can help me in many ways, Janetta. You don’t 
know how hard it is sometimes ” — and Margaret’s face re- 
rumed a wistful, troubled look. “ Mamma is so kind ; but 
she wants me sometimes to do things that I do not like, 
and she is so surprised when I do not wish to do them.” 

“ You will make her understand in time,” said Janetta, 
almost reverentially. Her ardent soul was thrilled with the 
conception of the true state of things as she imagined it ; of 
Margaret’s pure, sweet nature being dragged down to 
Lady Caroline’s level of artificial worldliness. For, not- 
withstanding all Lady Caroline’s gentleness of manner, 
Janetta was beginning to find her out. She began to see 
that this extreme softness and suavity covered a very per- 
sistent will, and that it was Lady Caroline who ruled the 
house and the family with an iron hand in a velvet glove. 

“ I am afraid not,” said Margaret, submissively. “ She 
is so much more determined than I am. Neither papa 
nor I could ever do anything against her. And in most 
things I like her to manage for me. But not my mar- 
riage ! ” 

“ No, indeed.” 

“ Will you stand by me, Janetta, dear ? ” 

“ Always, Margaret.” 

“You will always be my friend?” 

“ Always dear.” 

“ You make me feel strong when you say ‘ always > so 
earnestly, Janetta.” 

“ Because I believe,” said Janetta, quickly, “ that friend- 
ship is as strong a tie as any in the world. I don’t think 
it ought to be any less binding than the tie between 
sisters, between parents and child, even ” — and her voice 
dropped a little — “ even between husband and wife. I 
have heard it suggested that there should be a ceremony 
— a sort of form — for the making of a friendship as there is 
for other relations in life ; a vow of truth and fidelity which 
two friends could promise to observe. Don’t you think 
that it would be rather a useless thing, even if the thought 
is a pretty one ? Because we make and keep or break our 
vows in our own heart, and no promise would bind us 
more than our own hearts can do.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


9i 

“ I hope yours binds you to pie, Janetta ? ” said Mar- 
garet, half playfully, half sadly. 

“ It does, indeed.” 

And then the two girls kissed each other after the man- 
ner of impulsive and affectionate girls, and Margaret wiped 
away a tear that had gathered in the corner of her eye. 
Her face soon became as tranquil as ever; but Janetta’s 
brow remained grave, her lips firmly pressed together long 
after Margaret seemed to have forgotten what had been 
said. 

Things went deeper with Janetta than with Margaret. 
Girlish and unpractical as some of their speeches may 
appear, they were spoken or listened to by Janetta with 
the utmost seriousness. She was not of a nature to take 
things lightly. And during the pause that followed the 
conversation about friendship, she was mentally register- 
ing a very serious and earnest resolution, worthy indeed 
of being ranked as the promise or the vow of which she 
spoke, that she would always remain Margaret’s true and 
faithful friend, in spite of all the chances and changes of 
this transitory world. A youthful foolish thing to do, 
perhaps ; but the world is so constituted that the things 
done or said by very young and even very foolish persons 
sometimes dominate the whole lives of much older and 
wiser persons. And more came out of that silent vow of 
Janetta’s than even she anticipated. 

The rest of the day was very delightful to her. She and 
Margaret were left almost entirely to themselves, and they 
formed a dozen plans for the winter when Margaret should 
be back again and could resume her musical studies. Ja- 
netta tried to express her natural reluctance at the thought 
of giving lessons to her old school-companion, but Mar- 
garet laughed her to scorn. u As if you could not teach 
me ? ” she said. “ Why, I know nothing about the theory 
of music — nothing at all. And you were far ahead of any- 
body at Miss Polehampton’s ! You will soon have dozens 
of pupils, Janetta. I expect all Beaminster to be flocking 
to you before long.” 

She did not say, but it crossed her mind that the fact of 
her taking lessons from Janetta would probably serve as a 
very good advertisement. For Miss Adair was herself 
fairly proficient in the worldly wisdom which did not at 
all gratify her when exhibited by her mother. 


92 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


Janetta was sent home in the gathering twilight with a 
delightfully satisfied feeling. She was sure that Margaret’s 
friendship was as faithful as her own. And why should there 
not be two women as faithful to each other in friendship as 
ever Damon and Pythias, David and Jonathan, had been of 
old ? “ Margaret will always be her own sweet, high-soulcd 
self,” Janetta mused. “ It is I who may perhaps fall away 
from my ideal — I hope not ; oh, I hope not ! I hope that 
I shall always be faithful and true I ” 

There was a very tender look upon her face as she sat 
in Lady Caroline’s victoria, her hands clasped together 
upon her lap, her mouth firmly closed, her eyes wistful. 
The expression was so lovely that it beautified the whole 
of her face, which was not in itself strictly handsome, but 
capable of as many changes as an April day. She was so 
deeply absorbed in thought that she did not see a gentle- 
man lift his hat to her in passing. It was Cuthbert Brand, 
and when the carriage had passed him he stood still for 
a moment and looked back at it. 

“ I should like to paint that girl’s face,” he said to him- 
self. “ There is soul in it — character — passion. Her 
sister is prettier by far ; but I doubt whether she is capa- 
ble of so much.” 

But the exalted beauty had faded away by the time 
Janetta reached her home, and when she entered the house 
she was again the bright, sensible, energetic, and affection- 
ate sister and daughter that they all knew and loved : no 
great beauty, no genius, no saint, but a generous-hearted 
English girl, who tried to do her duty and to love her 
neighbor as herself. 

Her father met her in the hall. 

“Here you are,” he said. “I hardly expected you 
home as yet. Everybody is out, so you must tell me your 
experiences and adventures if you have any to tell.” 

“ I have not many,” said Janetta, brightly. “ Only 
everybody has been very, very kind.” 

“ I’m glad to hear of it ; but I should be surprised if 
people were not kind to my Janet.” 

“ Nobody is half so kind as you are,” said Janetta, fond- 
ly. “ Have you been very busy to-day, father ? ” 

“Very, dear. And I have been to Brand Hall.” 

He drew her inside his consulting-room as he spoke. 
It was a little room near the hall-door, opposite the 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


93 


dining-room. Janetta did not often go there, and felt as if 
some rather serious communication were to be made. 

“ Did you see the little boy, father ? ” 

“ Yes — and his grandmother.” 

“ And may I go to see Mrs. Brand ? ” 

Mr. Colwyn paused for a moment, and when he spoke 
his voice was broken by some emotion. “ If you can do 
anything to help and comfort that poor woman, my Janet,” 
he said at length, “ God forbid that I should ever hinder 
you ! I will not heed what the world says in face of sor- 
row such as she has known. Do what you can for her.” 

“ I will, father ; I promise you I will.” 

“ It is the second promise that I have made to-day,” 
said Janetta, rather thoughtfully, as she was undressing 
herself that night ; “ and each of them turns on the same 
subject — on being a friend to some one who needs friend- 
ship. The vocation of some women is to be a loving 
daughter, a true wife, or a good mother ; mine, perhaps, is 
to be above everything else a true friend. I don’t think 
my promises will be hard to keep ! ” 

But even Janetta, in her wisdom, could not foresee what 
was yet to come. 


CHAPTER XII. 

JANETTA REMONSTRATES. 

It was with a beating heart that Janetta, a few days later, 
crossed once more the threshold of her cousin’s house. 
Her father’s words about Mrs. Brand had impressed her 
rather painfully, and she felt some shyness and constraint 
at the thought of the reason which he had given her for 
coming. How she was to set about helping or comforting 
Mrs. Brand she had not the least idea. 

These thoughts were, however, put to flight by an un- 
looked-for scene, which broke upon her sight as she 
entered the hall. This hall had to be crossed before any 
of the other rooms could be reached ; it was low-ceiled, 
paneled in oak, and lighted by rather small windows, with 
stained glass in the lower panes. Like most rooms in the 
house it had a gloomy look, which was not relieved by the 


94 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


square of faded Turkey carpet in the centre of the black 
polished boards of the floor, or by the half-dozen dusky 
portraits in oak frames which garnished the walls. When 
Janetta was ushered in she found this ante-room or en- 
trance chamber occupied by three persons and a child. 
These, as she speedily found, consisted of Wyvis Brand 
and his little boy, and two gentlemen, one of whom was 
laughing immoderately, while the other was leaning over 
the back of the chair and addressing little Julian. 

Janetta halted for a moment, for the old servant who 
had admitted her seemed to think that his work was done 
when he had uttered her name, and had already retreated ; 
and his voice being exceedingly feeble, the announcement 
had passed unnoticed by the majority of the persons pre- 
sent, if not by all. Wyvis Brand had perhaps seen her, 
for his eyes were keen, and the shadow in which she stood 
was not likely to veil her from his sight ; but he gave no 
sign of being conscious of her presence. He was standing 
with his back to the mantel-piece, his arms crossed behind 
his head; there was a curious expression on his face, half- 
smile, half-sneer, but it was evident that he was merely 
looking and listening, not interfering with what was going 
on. 

It needed only a glance to see that little Julian was in a 
state of extraordinary excitement. His face was crimson, 
his eyes were sparkling and yet full of tears ; his legs were 
planted sturdily apart, and his hands were clenched. His 
head was drawn back, and his whole body also seemed as 
if it wanted to recoil, but placed as he was against a strong 
oaken table he could evidently go back no further. The 
gentleman on the chair was offering him something — 
Janetta could not at first see what — and the boy was 
vehemently resisting. 

“ I won’t have it ! I won’t have it ! ” he was crying, with 
the whole force of his lungs. “ I won’t touch it ! Take the 
nasty stuff away ! ” 

Janetta wondered whether it were medicine he was 
refusing, and why his father did not insist upon obedience. 
But Wyvis Brand, still standing by the mantel piece, only 
laughed aloud. 

“ No shirking ! Drink it up ! ” said the strange gentle- 
man, in what Janetta thought a curiously unpleasant voice. 
“ Come, come, it will make a man of you ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


95 

“ I don’t want to be made a man of ! I won’t touch it l 
I promised I never would ! You can’t make me ! ” 

“ You must be taught not to make rash promises,” said 
the man, laughing. “ Come now ” 

But little Julian had suddenly caught sight of Janetta’s 
figure at the door, and with a great bound he escaped from 
his tormentor and flung himself upon her, burying his face 
in her dress, and clutching its folds as if he would never 
let them go. 

“ It’s the lady ! the lady ! ” he gasped out. “ Oh, please . 
don’t let them make me drink it ! Indeed, I promised 
not.” 

Janetta came forward a little, and at her appearance 
every one looked more or less discomfited. The gentle- 
man on the chair she recognized as a Mr Strangways, a man 
of notoriously evil life, who had a house near Beaminster, 
and was generally shunned by respectable people in the 
neighborhood. He started up, and looked at her with 
what she felt to be a rather insolent gaze. Wyvis Brand 
stood erect, and looked sullen. The other gentleman, who 
was a stranger, rose from his chair in a civiller manner than 
his friend had done. 

Janetta put her arms round the little fellow, and turned 
a rather bewildered face towards Mr. Brand. “ Was it — 
was it — medicine ? ” she asked. 

“Of a kind,’' said Wyvis, with a laugh. 

“ It was brandy — eau-de-vie — horrid hot stuff that 
maman used to drink,” said little Julian, with a burst of 
angry sobs, “and I prom^ed not — I oromised old Susan 
that I never would ! ” 

“ It was only a joke,” said the master of the house, 
coming forward now, and anxious perhaps to avert the 
storm threatened by a sudden indignant flash of Janetta’s 
great dark eyes. “ We were not in earnest of course.” (A 
smothered laugh and ejaculation from Mr. Strangways 
passed without notice.) “ The boy does not know how to 
take a joke — he’s a milksop.” 

“ I’m not ! I’m not ! ” said little Julian, still struggling 
with violent sobs. “ I’m not a milksop ! Oh, say that I’m 
not ! Do tell father that I’m not — not ” 

“ Certainly you are not. You are a very brave little boy, 
and know how to keep your word,” said Janetta, with de- 
cision. “ And now you must come with me to your grand- 
mother; I came to see her this afternoon.” 


9 6 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


She gathered him into her strong, young arms as if she 
would have carried him from the room, but he struggled 
manfully to keep his feet, although he still held her dress. 
Without a word, Wyvis strode to the door and held it open 
for the pair. Janetta forgot to thank him, or to greet him 
in any way. She swept past him in a transport of silent 
fury, flashing upon him one look of indignation which 
Wyvis Brand did not easily forget. It even deafened him 
for a moment to the sneering comment of Mr. Strang- 
way s, which fell on Janetta’s ears just as she was leaving 
the room. 

“ That’s a regular granny’s bey. Well for him if he 
always gets a pretty girl to help him out of a difficulty.” 

Wyvis, who had stood for a moment as if transfixed by 
Janetta’s glance, hastily shut the door. 

Janetta paused in the corridor outside. She was flushed 
and panting ; she felt that she could not present herself to 
Mrs. Brand in that state. She held the boy close to her, 
and listened while he poured forth his story in sobbing 
indistinctness. 

“ Old Susan — she was their English servant — she had 
been always with maman — she had told him that brandy 
made people mad and wicked — and he did not want to be 
mad and wicked — and he had promised Susan never to 
drink brandy ; and the naughty gentleman wanted him to 
take it, and he would not — would not — would not ! ” 

“ Hush, dear,” said Janetta, gently. “ There is no need 
to cry over it. You know you kept your word as a gentle* 
man should.” 

The boy’s eyes flashed through his tears. “ Fathei 
thinks I’m a — I’m a milksop,” he faltered. 

‘ Show him that you are not,” said Janetta. She saw 
that it was no use to talk to Julian as to a baby. “ If you 
are always brave and manly he won’t think so.” 

“ I will be always brave,” said the little fellow, choking 
back his sobs and regarding her with the clear, fearless 
gaze which she had noticed in him from the first. „ And at 
this moment a door opened, and Mrs. Brand, who had 
heard voices, came out in some sumrise to see what was 
the matter. 

Janetta was glad to see the loving way in which the boy 
ran into his grandmother’s arms, and the tenderness with 
which she received him. Mrs. Brand courteously invited 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


97 


her guest into the drawing-room, but her attention was 
given far more to little Julian than to Janetta, and in two 
minutes he had poured the whole story into her ear. Mrs, 
Brand did not say much ; she sat with him in her lap look- 
ing excessively pained and grieved ; and that frozen look 
of pain upon her face made Janetta long — but long in vain 
— to comfort her. Tea was brought in by-and-bye, and 
then Julian was dismissed to his nursery — whither he went 
reluctantly, holding his face up to be kissed by Janetta, 
and asking her to “ come back soon.” And when he was 
gone, Mrs. Brand seemed unable to contain herself any 
longer, and broke forth passionately. 

“ A curse is on us all — I am sure of that. The boy will 
be ruined, and by his father too.” 

“ Oh, no,” Janetta said, earnestly. “ His father would 
not really hurt him, I feel sure.” 

“ You do not know my son. He is like his own father, 
my husband — and that is the way my husband began with 
Wyvis.” 

“ But — he did not succeed ? ” 

“ Not altogether, because Wyvis had a strong head, and 
drew back in time ; but his father did him harm — untold 
harm. His father was a bad man. I do not scruple to 
say so, although he was my husband ; and there is a taint, 
a sort of wild strain, in the blood. Even the boy inherits 
it ; I see that too clearly. And Wyvis — Wyvis will not 
hold himself in for long. He is falling amongst those 
racing and betting men again — the Strangways were always 
to be feared — and before long he will tread in his father’s 
steps and break my heart, and bring down my grey hairs 
with sorrow to the grave. 

She burst into a passion of tears as she spoke. Janetta 
felt inexpressibly shocked and startled. This revelation 
of a dark side of life was new and appalling to her. She 
could hardly understand Mrs. Brand’s dark anticipations. 

She took the mother’s hand and held it gently between 
her own, uttering some few soothing sentences as she did 
so. Presently the poor woman’s sobs grew quieter, and 
she returned the pressure of Janetta’s hand. 

“Thank you, my dear,” she said at last. “You have a 
very kind heart. But it is no use telling me to be com- 
forted. I understand my sons, as I understood my hus- 

7 


9 8 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


band before tnem. They cannot help it. What is in the 
blood will come out.” 

“ Surely,” said Janetta, in a very low tone, “ there is 
always the might and the mercy of God to fall back upon 
— to help us when we cannot help ourselves.” 

“ Ah, my dear, if I could believe in that I should be a 
happier woman,” said Mrs. Brand, sorrowfully. 

Janetta stayed a little longer, and when she went the 
elder woman allowed herself to be kissed affectionately, 
and asked in a wistful tone, as Julian had done, when she 
would come again. 

The girl was glad to find that the hall was empty when 
she crossed it again. She had no fancy for encountering 
the insolent looks (as she phrased it to herself) of Wyvis 
Brand and his hateful friends. But she had reckoned 
without her host. For when she reached the gate into the 
high-road, she found Mr. Brand leaning against it with his 
elbows resting on the topmost bar, and his eyes gloomily 
fixed on the distant landscape. He started when he saw 
her, raised his hat and opened the gate with punctilious 
politeness. Janetta bowed her thanks, but without any 
smile ; she was not at all in charity with her cousin, Wyvis 
Brand. 

He allowed her to pass him, but before she had gone half 
a dozen yards, he strode after her and caught her up. 
“ Will you let me have a few words with you ? ” he said, 
rather hoarsely. 

“ Certainly, Mr. Brand.” Janetta turned and faced him, 
still with the disapproving gravity upon her brow. 

“ Can’t we walk on for a few paces ? ” said Wyvis, with 
evident embarrassment. “ I can say what I want to say 
better while we are walking. Besides, they can see us from 
the house if we stand here.” 

Privately Janetta thought that this would be no draw- 
back, but she did not care to make objections, so turned 
once more and walked on silently. 

“ I want to speak to you,” said the man, presently, with 
something of a shamefaced air, “ about the little scene you 
came upon this afternoon ” 

“ Yes,” said Janetta. She did not know how con- 
temptuously her lips curled as she said the word. 

“ You came at an unfortunate moment,” he went on, 
awkwardly enough. “ I was about to interpose ; I should 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


99 


not have allowed Jack Strangways to go too far. Of course 
you thought that I did not care.” 

“ Yes,” said Janetta, straightforwardly. Wyvis bit his 

lip* 

“ l am not quite so thoughtless of my son’s welfare,” he 
said, in a firmer tone. “ There was enough in that glass 
to madden a child — almost to kill him. You don’t suppose 
I would have let him take that ? ” 

“ I don’t know. You were offering no objection to it 
when I came in.” 

“ Do you doubt my word ? ” said Wyvis, fiercely. 

“ No. I believe you, if you mean really to say that you 
were not going to allow your little boy to drink what Mr. 
Strangways offered him.” 

“ I do mean to say it ” — in a tone of hot anger. 

Janetta was silent. 

u Have you nothing to say, Miss Colwyn ? ” 

“ I have no right to express any opinion, Mr. Brand.” 

“ But I wish for it ! ”• 

“ I do not see why you should wish for it,” said Janetta, 
coldly, “ especially when it may not be very agreeable to 
you to hear.” 

“ Will you kindly tell me what you mean? ” The words 
were civil, but the tone was imperious in the extreme. 

“I mean that whether you were going to make Julian 
drink that poisonous stuff or not, you were inflicting a 
horrible torture upon him,” said Janetta, as hotly as Wyvis 
himself could have spoken. “ And I cannot understand 
how you could allow your own child to be treated in that 
cruel way. I call it wicked to make a child suffer.” 

Had she looked at her. companion, she would have seen 
that his face had grown a little whiter than usual, and that 
he had the pinched look about his nostrils which — as his 
mother would have known — betokened rage. But she did 
not look ; and, although he paused for a moment before 
replying, his voice was quite calm when he spoke again. 

“ Torture ? Suffering ? These are very strong words 
when applied to a little harmless teasing.” 

“ I do not call it harmless teasing when you are trying 
to make a child break a promise that he holds sacred.” 

“ A very foolish promise ! ” 

“ I am not so sure of that.” 

“ Do you mean to insult me ? ” said Wyvis, flushing to 
the roots of his hair. 


100 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


« Insult you ? No ; certainly not. I don’t know why 
you should say so ! ” 

“ Then I need not explain,” he answered drily, though 
still with that flush of annoyance on his face. “ Perhaps 
if you think over what you have heard of that boy’s ante- 
cedents, you will know what I mean.” 

It was Janetta’s turn to flush now. She remembered the 
stories current respecting old Mr. Brand’s drinking habits, 
and the rumors about Mrs. Wyvis Brand’s reasons for living 
away from her husband. She saw that her words had 
struck home in a manner which she had not intended. 

“ I beg your pardon,” she said involuntarily ; “ I never 
meant — I never thought — anything — I ought not to have 
spoken as I did.” 

“You had much better say what you mean,” was the 
answer, spoken with bitter brevity. 

“ Well, then, I will.” Janetta raised her eyes and looked 
at him bravely. “ After all, I am a kinswoman of yours, 
Mr. Brand, and little Julian is my cousin too ; so I have 
some sort of a right to speak. I never thought of his 
antecedents, as you call them, and I do not know much 
about them ; but if they were — if they had been not 
altogether what you wish them to be — don’t you see that 
this very promise which you tried to make him break was 
one of his best safeguards ? ” 

“ The promise made by a child is no safeguard,” said 
Wyvis, doggedly. 

“ Not if he is forced to break it l” exclaimed Janetta, 
with a touch of fire. 

They walked on in silence for a minute or two, and then 
Wyvis said, 

“ Do you believe in a promise made by a child of that 
age ? ” 

“ Little Julian has made me believa in it. He was so 
thoroughly in earnest. Oh, Mr. Brand, do you think that 
it was right to force him to do a thing against his con- 
science in that way ? ” 

“ You use hard words for a very simple thing, Miss 
Colwyn,” said Wyvis, in a rather angry tone. “ The boy 
was not forced — I had no intention of letting him drink the 
brandy.” 

“ No,” said Janetta, indignantly. “ You only let him 
think that he was to be forced to do it — you only made him 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


IOI 


lose faith in you as his natural protector, and believe that 
you wished him to do what he thought wrong ! And you 
say there was no cruelty in that ? ” 

Wyvis Brand kept silence for some minutes. He was 
impressed in spite of himself by Janetta’s fervor. 

“ I suppose,” he said, at last, “ that the fact is — I don’t 
know what to do with a child. I never had any teaching 
or training when I was a child, and I don’t know how to 
give it. I know I’m a sort of heathen and savage, and the 
boy must grow up like me — that is all.” 

“ It is often said to be a heathen virtue to keep one’s 
word,” said Janetta, with a half smile. 

“ Therefore one that I can practice, you mean ? Do you 
always keep your word when you give it ? ” 

“ I try to.” 

“ I wish I could get you to give your word to do one 
thing.” 

“What is that ? ” 

Wyvis spoke slowly. “ You see how unfit I am to bring 
up a child — I acknowledge the unfitness — and yet to send 
him away from us would almost break my mother’s heart 
— you see that.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Will not you sometimes look in on us and give us a 
word of advice or — or — rebuke ? You are a cousin, as 
you reminded me, and you have the right. Will you help 
us a little now and then ? ” 

“ You would not like it if I did.” 

“ Was I so very savage ? I have an awful temper, I 
know. But I am not quite so black as I’m painted, Miss 
Colwyn. I do want to do the best for that boy — if I knew 
how ” 

“ Witness this afternoon,” said Janetta, with good- 
humored satire. 

“ Well, that shows that I don’t know how. Seriously, 
I am sorry — I can’t say more. Won’t you stand our friend, 
Cousin Janetta ? ” 

It was the first time he had addressed her in that way. 

“ How often am I to be asked to be somebody’s friend, 
I wonder ! ” said Janetta to herself, with a touch of humor. 
But she answered, quite gravely, “ I should like to do 
what I can — but I’m afraid there is nothing that I can do, 
especially ” — with a sudden flush — “ if your friends — the 


102 


A TRUE FRJEND. 


people who come to your house — are men like Mr. Strang- 
ways.” 

Wyvis looked at her sideways, with a curious look upon 
his face. 

“ You object to Mr. Strangways ? ” 

“ He is a man whom most people object to.” 

“ Well — if I give up Mr. Strangways and his kind ” 

“ Oh, will you, Cousin Wyvis ? ” 

She turned an eager, sparkling face upon him. It oc- 
curred to him, almost for the first time, to admire her. With 
that light in her eye, that color in her cheek, Janetta was 
almost beautiful. He smiled. 

“ I shall be only too glad of an excuse,” he said, with 
more simplicity and earnestness than she had as yet 
distinguished in his voice. “ And then — you will come 
again ? ” 

“ I will — gladly.” 

“ Shake hands on it after your English fashion,” he said, 
stopping short, and holding out his own hand. “ I have 
been so long abroad that I almost forget the way. But it 
is a sign of friendliness, is it not ? ” 

Janetta turned and laid her hand in his with a look of 
bright and trustful confidence. Somehow it made Wyvis 
Brand feel himself unworthy. He said almost nothing 
more until they parted at Mr. Colwyn’s door. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

SHADOWS. 

But Janetta had not much chance of keeping her promise 
for some time to come. She was alarmed to find, on her 
return home that evening, that her father had come 
in sick and shivering, with all the symptoms of a violent 
cold, followed shortly by high fever. He had caught 
a chill during a long drive undertaken in order to see 
a motherless child who had been suddenly taken ill, 
and in whose case he took a great' interest. The child 
rapidly recovered, but Mr. Colwyn’s illness had a serious 
termination. Pleurisy came on, and made such rapid in- 
roads upon his strength that in a very few days his recov- 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


103 


ery was pronounced impossible. Gradually growing weaker 
and weaker, he was not able even to give counsel or direc- 
tion to his family, and could only whisper to Janetta, who 
was his devoted nurse, a few words about “ taking care ” 
of the rest. 

“ I will always do my very best for them, father ; you 
may be sure of that,” said Janetta, earnestly. The look 
of anxious pain in his eyes gave her the strength to speak 
firmly — she must set his mind at ease at any cost. 

“ My faithful Janet,” she heard him whisper ; and then 
he spoke no more. With his hand still clasped in hers he 
died in the early morning of a chill October day, and the 
world of Beaminster knew him no more. 

The world seemed sadly changed for Janetta when her 
father had gone forth from it ; and yet it was not she who 
made the greatest demonstration of mourning. Mrs. Col- 
wyn passed from one hysterical fit into another, and Nora 
sobbed herself ill ; but Janetta went about her duties with 
a calm and settled gravity, a sober tearlessness, which 
caused her stepmother to dub her cold and heartless half 
a dozen times a day. As a matter of fact the girl felt as if 
her heart were breaking, but there was no one but herself 
to bear any of the commonplace little burdens of daily life 
which are so hard to carry in the time of trouble ; and but 
for her thoughtful presence of mind the whole house would 
have degenerated into a state of chaos. She wrote neces- 
sary letters, made arrangements for the sad offices which 
were all that could be rendered to her father now, inter- 
viewed the dressmaker, and ordered meals for the children. 
It was to her that the servants and tradespeople came for 
orders ; it was she who kept her mother’s room quiet, and 
nursed Nora, and provided necessary occupation for the 
awed and bewildered children. 

“You don’t seem to feel it a bit, Janetta,” Mrs. Colwyn 
said to her on the day before the funeral. “ And I’m sure 
you were always your father’s favorite. He never cared 
half so much for any of the children as he did for you, and 
now you can’t even give him a tributary tear.” 

Mrs. Colwyn was fond of stilted expressions, and the 
thought of “ a tributary tear ” seemed so incongruous to 
Janetta when compared with her own deep grief, that — 
much to Mrs. Colwyn’s horror — she burst into an agitated 
little laugh, as nervous people sometimes do on the most 
solemn occasions. 


104 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


11 To laugh when your father is lying dead in the house ! ” 
ejaculated Mrs. Colwyn, with awful emphasis. “ And you 
that he thought so loving and dutiful ! ” 

Then poor Janetta collapsed. She was worn out with 
watching and working, and from nervous laughter she 
passed to tears so heart-broken and so exhausting that 
Mrs. Colwyn never again dared to accuse her openly of 
insensibility. And perhaps it was a good thing for Janetta 
that she did break down in this way. The doctor who had 
attended her father was growing very uneasy about her. 
He had not been deceived by her apparent calmness. 
Her white face and dark-ringed eyes had told him all that 
Janetta could not say. “ A good thing too ! ” he muttered 
when, on a subsequent call, Tiny told him, with rather a 
look of consternation, that her sister “ had been crying.” 
“ A good thing too ! If she had not cried she would have 
had a nervous fever before long, and then what would be- 
come of you all ? ” 

During these dark days Janetta was inexpressibly touched 
by the marks of sympathy that reached her from all sides. 
Country people trudged long distances into town that they 
might gaze once more on the worn face of the man who had 
often assuaged not only physical but mental pain, and had 
been as ready to help and comfort as to prescribe. Towns- 
folk sent flowers for the dead and dainties for the living ; 
but better than all their gifts was the regret that they 
expressed for the death of a man whom everyone liked and 
respected. Mr. Colwyn’s practice, though never very lucra- 
tive, had been an exceedingly large one ; and only when 
he had passed away did his townsfolk seem to appreciate 
him at his true worth. 

In the sad absorption of mind which followed upon his 
death, Janetta almost forgot her cousins, the Brands. But 
when the funeral took place, and she went with her brother 
Joe to the grave, as she insisted upon doing in spite of her 
stepmother’s tearful remonstrances, it was a sort of relief 
and satisfaction to her to see that both Wy vis and Cuthbert 
Brand were present. They were her kinsmen, after all, and 
it was right for them to be there. It made her feel momen- 
tarily stronger to know of their presence in the church. 

But at the grave she forgot them utterly. The beautiful 
and consoling words of the Burial Service fell almost un- 
heeded on her ear. She could only think of the blank 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


J °5 

that was made in her life by the absence of that loving 
voice, that tender sympathy, which had never failed her 
once. “ My faithful Janet ! ” he had called her. There 
was no one to call her “ my faithful Janet ” now. 

She was shaken by a storm of silent sobs as these thoughts 
came over her. She made scarcely a sound, but her figure 
was swayed by the tempest as if it would have fallen. Joe, 
the young brother, who could as yet scarcely realize the 
magnitude of the loss which he had sustained, glanced at 
her uneasily ; but it was not he, but Wyvis Brand, who 
suddenly made a step forward and gave her — -just in time 
— the support of his strong arm. The movement checked 
her and recalled her to herself. Her weeping grew less 
violent, and although strong shudders still shook her 
frame, she was able to walk quietly from the grave to the 
carriage-door, 'and to shake hands with Wyvis Brand with 
some attempt at calmness of demeanor. 

He came to the house a few days after the funeral, but 
Janetta happened to be out, and Mrs. Colwyn refused to 
see him. Possibly he thought that some slight lurked 
within this refusal, for he did not come again, and a visit 
at a later date from Mrs. Brand was so entirely embarrass- 
ing and unsatisfactory that Janetta could hardly wish 
for its repetition. Mrs. Colwyn, in the deepest of widow’s 
weeds, with a white handkerchief in her hand, was yet not 
too much overcome by grief to show that she esteemed 
herself far more respectable than Mrs. Brand, and could 
“ set her down,” if necessary ; while poor Mrs. Brand, 
evidently comprehending the reason of Mrs. Colwyn’s 
bridlings and tossings, was nervous and flurried, sat on the 
edge of a chair, and looked — poor, helpless, elderly woman 
— as if she had never entered a drawing-room before. 

The only comfort Janetta had out of the visit was a 
moment’s conversation in the hall when Mrs. Brand took 
her leave. 

“ My dear — my dear,” said Mrs. Brand, taking the girl’s 
hand in hers, “ I am so sorry, and I can’t do anything to 
comfort you. Your father was very kind to me when I 
was in great trouble, years ago. I shall never forget his 
goodness. If there is anything I can ever do for you, you 
must let me do it for his sake.” 

Janetta put up her face and kissed the woman to whom 
her father had been “ very kind.” It comforted her to 


io 6 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


hear of his goodness once again. She loved Mrs. Brand 
for appreciating it. 

That little sentence or two did her more good than the 
long letters which she was receiving every few days from 
Margaret, her chosen friend. Margaret was sincerely 
grieved for Janetta’s loss, and said many consoling things 
in her sweet, tranquil, rather devotional way ; but she had 
not known Mr. Colwyn, and she could not say the words 
that Janetta’s heart was aching for — the words of praise 
and admiration of a nobly unselfish life which alone could 
do Janetta any good. Yes, Margaret’s letters were dis- 
tinctly unsatisfactory — not from want of feeling, but from 
want of experience of life. 

Graver necessities soon arose, however, than those of 
consolation in grief. Mr. Colwyn had always been a poor 
man, and the sum for which he had insured his life was 
only sufficient to pay his debts and funeral expenses, and 
to leave a very small balance at his banker’s. He had 
bought the house in Gwynne Street in which he lived, and 
there was no need, therefore, to seek for another home ; 
and Mrs. Colwyn had fifty pounds a year of her own, but 
of course it was necessary that the two elder girls should 
do something for themselves. Nora obtained almost 
immediately a post as under-teacher in a school not far 
from Beaminster, and Georgie was taken in as a sort of 
governess-pupil, while Joe was offered — chiefly out of con- 
sideration for his father’s memory — a clerkship in a mer- 
cantile house in the town, and was considered to be well 
provided for. Curly, one of the younger boys, obtained 
a nomination to a naval school in London. Thus only 
Mrs. Colwyn, Tiny, and “ Jinks ” remained at home — 
with Janetta. 

With Janetta! — That was the difficulty. What was 
Janetta to do ? She might probably with considerable 
ease have obtained a position as resident governess in a 
family, but then she would have to be absent from home 
altogether. And of late the Colwyns had found it best 
to dispense with the maid-servant who had hitherto done 
the work of the household — a fact which meant that Jan- 
etta, with the help of a charity orphan of thirteen, did it 
nearly all herself. 

“ I might send home enough money for you to keep an 
efficient servant, mamma,” she said one day, “ if I could 
go away and find a good situation.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


107 


It never occurred either to her or to her stepmother 
that any of her earnings were to belong to Janetta, or be 
used for her behoof. 

“ It would have to be a very good situation indeed, 
then,” said Mrs. Colwyn, with sharpness. “ I don’t sup- 
pose you could get more than fifty pounds a year — if so 
much. And fifty pounds would not go far if we had a 
woman in the house to feed and pay wages to. No, you 
had better stay at home and get some daily teaching in the 
neighborhood. With your recommendations it ought to be 
easy enough for you to do so.” 

“ I am afraid not,” said Janetta, with a little sigh. 

“ Nonsense ! You could get some if you tried — if you 
had any energy, any spirit. I suppose you would like to 
sit with your hands before you, doing nothing, while I 
slaved my fingers to the bone for you,” said Mrs. Colwyn, 
who never got up till noon, or did anything but gossip and 
read novels when she was up ; “ but I would be ashamed 
to do that if I were a well-educated girl, whose father spent 
I don’t know how much on her voice, and expected her to 
make a living for herself by the time she was one-and- 
twenty ! I must say, Janetta, that I think it very wrong 
of you to be so slack in trying to earn a little money, when 
Nora and Georgie and Joey are all out in the world doing 
for themselves, and you sitting here at home doing nothing 
at all.” 

u I am sorry, mamma,” said Janetta, meekly. “ I will 
try to get something to do at once.” 

She did not think of reminding Mrs. Colwyn that she 
had been up since six o’clock that morning helping the 
charity orphan to scrub and scour, cooking, making beds, 
sewing, teaching Tiny between whiles, and scarcely get- 
ting five minutes’ rest until dinner-time. She only began 
to wonder how she could manage to get all her tasks into 
the day if she had lessons to give as well. “ I suppose I 
must sit up at night and get up earlier in the morning,” 
she thought to herself. “ It is a pity I am such a sleepy 
person. But use reconciles one to all things.” 

Mrs. Colwyn meanwhile went on lecturing. 

“ And above all things, Janetta, remember that you ask 
high terms and get the money always in advance. You 
are just like your poor father in the way you have about 
money; I never saw anyone so unpractical as he was. 


io8 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


I’m sure half his bills are unpaid yet, and never will be 
paid. I hope you won’t be like him , I’m sure ” 

“ I hope I shall be like him in every possible respect,” 
said Janetta, with compressed lips. She rose as she spoke 
and caught up the basket of socks that she was mending. 
“ I don’t know how you can bear to speak of him in that 
slighting manner,” she went on, almost passionately. 
“ He was the best, the kindest of men, and I cannot bear 
to hear it.” And then she hurriedly left the room and 
went into her father’s little surgery — as it had once been 
called — to relieve her overcharged heart with a burst of 
weeping. It was not often that Janetta lost patience, but 
a word against her father was sufficient to upset her self- 
command nowadays. She rested her head against the 
well-worn arm-chair where he used to sit, and kissed the 
back of it, and bedewed it with her tears. 

“Poor father! dear father!” she murmured. “Oh, if 
only you were here, I could bear anything ! Or if she had 
loved you as you deserved, I could bear with her and work 
for her willingly — cheerfully. But when she speaks 
against you, father dear, how can I live with her? And 
yet he told me to take care of her, and I said I would. 
He called me ‘ his faithful Janet.’ I do not want to be 
unfaithful, but — oh father, father, it is hard to live without 
you ! ” 

The gathering shades of the wintry day began to gather 
round her; but Janetta, her face buried in the depths of 
the arm-chair, was oblivious of time. It was almost dark 
before little Tiny came running in with cries of terror to 
summon her sister to Mrs. Colwyn’s help. 

“ Mamma’s ill — I think she’s dying. Come, Janet, come,” 
cried the child. And Janetta hurried back to the dining- 
room. 

She found Mrs. Colwynon the sofa in a state of apparent 
stupor. For this at first Janetta saw no reason, and was 
on the point of sending for a doctor, when her eye fell 
upon a black object which had rolled from the sofa to the 
ground. Janetta looked at it and stood transfixed. 

There was no need to send for a doctor. And Janetta 
saw at once that she could not be spared from home. The 
wretched woman had found a solace from her woes, real 
and imaginary, in the brandy bottle. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


109 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Janetta’s failure. 

The terrible certainty that Janetta had now acquired of 
Mrs. Colwyn’s inability to control herself decided her in 
the choice of an occupation. She knew that she must, if 
possible, earn something ; but it was equally impossible 
for her to leave home entirely, or even for many hours at 
a stretch ; she was quite convinced that constant watching, 
and even gentle restraint, could alone prevail in checking 
the tendency which her stepmother evinced. She under- 
stood now better than she had ever done why her father’s 
brow had been so early wrinkled and his hair grey before 
its time. Doubtless, he had discovered his wife’s unfor- 
tunate tendency, and, while carefully concealing it or 
keeping it within bounds, had allowed it often to weigh 
heavily upon his mind. Janetta realized with a great 
shock that she could not hope to exert the influence or the 
authority of her father, that all her efforts might possibly 
be unavailing unless they were seconded by Mrs. Colwyn 
herself, and that public disgrace might yet be added to the 
troubles and anxieties of their lives. 

There is something so particularly revolting in the 
spectacle of this kind of degradation in a woman, that 
Janetta felt as if the discovery that she had made turned 
her positively ill. She had much ado to behave to the 
children and the servant as if nothing were amiss ; she got 
her stepmother to bed, and kept Tiny out of the room, 
but the effort was almost more than she knew how to bear. 
She passed a melancholy evening with the children — 
melancholy in spite of herself, for she did her best to be 
cheerful — and spent a sleepless night, rising in the morning 
with a bad headache and a conviction as of the worthless- 
ness of all things which she did not very often experience. 

She shrank sensitively from going to Mrs. Colwyn’s 
room. Surely the poor woman would be overcome with 
pain and shame ; surely she would understand how terrible 


no 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


the exposure of her disgrace had been to Janetta. But at 
last Mrs. Colwyn’s bell sounded sharply, and continued to 
ring, and the girl was obliged to run upstairs and enter her 
stepmother’s room. 

Mrs. Cohvyn was sitting up in bed, with the bell-rope in 
her hand, an aggrieved expression upon her face. 

“ Well, I’m sure ! Nine o’clock and no breakfast ready 
for me ! I suppose I may wait until everybody else in the 
house is served first ; I must say, Janetta, that you are very 
thoughtless of my comfort.” 

Contrary to her usual custom Janetta offered no word of 
excuse or apology. She was too much taken aback to 
speak. She stood and looked at her stepmother with 
slightly dilated eyes, and neither moved nor spoke. 

“ What are you staring at ? ” said Mrs. Colwyn, sinking 
back on her pillows with a faint — very faint — touch of 
uneasiness in her tones. “ If you are in a sulky mood, 
Janetta, I wish you would go away, and send my breakfast 
up by Phoebe and Tiny. I have a wretched headache this 
morning and can’t be bothered.” 

“ What would you like ? ” said Janetta, with an effort. 

“ Oh, anything. Some coffee and toast, perhaps. I dare 
say you won’t believe it — you are so unsympathetic — but I 
was frightfully ill last night. I don’t know how I got to 
bed ; I was quite insensible for a time — all from a narcotic 
that I had taken for neuralgia ” 

“ I’ll go and get your breakfast ready,” said Janetta 
abruptly. “ I will send it up as soon as I can.” 

She left the room, unheeding some murmured grumbling 
at her selfishness, and shut the door behind her. On the 
landing it must be confessed that she struck her foot 
angrily on the floor and clenched her hands, while the 
color flushed into her mobile, sensitive little face. There 
was nothing that Janetta hated more than a lie. And her 
stepmother was lying to her now. 

She sent up the breakfast tray, and did not re-enter tne 
room for some time. When at last she came up, Mrs. 
Colwyn had had the fire lighted and was sitting beside it 
in a rocking-chair, with a novel on her lap. She looked up 
indolently as Janetta entered. 

“ Going out ? ” she said, noticing that the girl was in 
her out-door wraps. “ You are always gadding.” 

“ I came to speak to you before I went out,” said 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


i 


Janetta, patiently. “ I am going to the stationer’s, and to 
the Beaminster Argus Office. I mean to make it well 
known in the town that I want to give music and singing- 
lessons. And, if possible, I shall give them here — at our 
own housed 

'“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” said Mrs. Colwyn, 
shrilly. “ I’ll not have a pack of children about the house 
playing scales and singing their Do, Re, Mi, till my head 
is fit to split. You’ll remember, Miss, that this is my house, 
and that you are living on my money, and behave your- 
self.” 

“ Mamma,” said Janetta, steadily, advancing a step 
nearer, and turning a shade paler than she had been 
before, “ please think what you are saying. I am willing 
to work as hard as I can, and earn as much as I can. But 
I dare not go away from home — at any rate for long — 
unless I can feel sure that — that what happened last night 
— will not occur again.” 

“ What happened ! — what happened last night ? — I don’t 
know what you mean.” 

“ Don’t say that, mamma : you know — you know quite 
well. And think what a grief it would have been to dear 
father — what a disgrace it will be to Joe and Nora and the 
little ones and all of us — if it ever became known ! Think 
of yourself, and the shame and the sin of it ! ” 

“ I’ve not the least notion what you are talking about, 
Janetta, and I beg that you will not address me in that 
way,” said Mrs. Colwyn, with an attempt at dignity. “ It 
is very undutiful indeed, and I hope that I shall hear no 
more of it.” 

“ I’ll never speak of it again, mamma, unless you make 
it necessary. All I mean is that you must understand — I 
cannot feel safe now — I must be at home as much as 
possible to see that Tiny is safe, and that everything is 
going on well. You must please let me advertise for 
pupils in our own house.” 

Mrs. Colwyn burst into tears. “Oh, well, have your 
own way ! I knew that you would tyrannize, you always 
do whenever you get the chance, and very foolish I have 
been to give you the opportunity. To speak in that way 
to your father’s wife — and all because she had to take a 
little something for her nerves, and because of her 
neuralgia ! But I am nobody now ; nobody, even in my 


f 12 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


own house, where I’m sure I ought to be mistress if any- 
body is ! ” 

Janetta could do or say nothing more. She gave her 
stepmother a dose of sal volatile, and went away. She 
had already searched every room and every cupboard in 
the house, except in Mrs. Colwyn’s own domain, and had 
put every bottle that she could find under lock and key ; 
but she left the house with a feeling of terrible insecurity 
upon her, as if the earth might open at any moment 
beneath her feet. 

She put advertisements in the local papers and left 
notices at some of the Beaminster shops, and, when these 
attempts produced no results, she called systematically on 
all the people she knew, and did her best — very much 
against the grain — to ask for pupils. Thanks to her 
perseverance she soon got three or four children as music 
pupils, although at a very low rate of remuneration. Also, 
she gave two singing lessons weekly to the daughter of the 
grocer with whom the Colwyns dealt. But these were not 
paid for in money, but in kind. And then for a time she 
got no more pupils at all. 

Janetta was somewhat puzzled by her failure. She had 
fully expected to succeed as a teacher in Beaminster. 
“ When the Adairs come back it will be better,” she said, 
hopefully, to herself. “ They have not written for a long 
time, but I am sure that they will come home soon. Per- 
haps Margaret is going to be married and will not want 
any singing lessons. But I should think that they would 
recommend me : I should think that I might refer to Lady 
Caroline, and surely people would think more of my abili- 
ties then.” 

But it was not confidence in her abilities that was lack- 
ing so much as confidence in her amiability and discre- 
tion, she soon found. She called one day at the house of 
a schoolmistress, who was said to want assistance in the 
musical line, and was received with a stiffness which did 
not encourage her to make much of her qualifications. 

“ The fact is, Miss Colwyn,” said the preceptress at 
length, “I have heard of you from Miss Polehampton.” 

Janetta was on her feet in a moment. “ I know very well 
what that means,” she said, rather defiantly. 

“ Exactly. I see that Miss Polehampton’s opinion of 
you is justifiable. You will excuse my mentioning to you, 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


n 3 


as it is all for your own good, Miss Colwyn, that Miss 
Polehampton found in you some little weakness of temper, 
some want of the submissiveness and good sense which 
ought to characterize an under-teacher’s demeanor. I 
have great confidence in Miss Polehampton’s opinion.” 

“ The circumstances under which I left Miss Polehamp- 
ton’s could be easily explained if you would allow me to 
refer you to Lady Caroline Adair,” said Janetta, with 
mingled spirit and dignity. 

“Lady Caroline Adair? Oh, yes, I have heard all 
about that,” said the schoolmistress, in a tone of deprecia- 
tion. “ I do not need to hear any other version of the 
story. You must excuse my remarking, Miss Colwyn, 
that temper and sense are qualities as valuable in music- 
teaching as in any other ; and that your dismissal from 
Miss Polehampton’s will, in my opinion, be very much 
against you, in a place where Miss Polehampton’s school 
is so well known, and she herself is so much respected.” 

“ I am sorry to have troubled you,” said Janetta, not 
without stateliness, although her lips trembled a little as she 
spoke. “ I will wish you good-morning.” 

The schoolmistress bowed solemnly, and allowed the 
girl to depart. Janetta hastened out of the house — glad 
to get away before the tears that had gathered in her eyes 
could fall. 

At an ordinary time she would have been equally care- 
ful that they did not fall when she was in the street ; but 
on this occasion, dazed, wounded, and tormented by an 
anxiety about the future, which was beginning to take the 
spring out of her youth, she moved along the side-walk 
with perfect unconsciousness that her eyes were brim- 
ming over, and that two great tears were already on her 
cheeks. 

It was a quiet road, and there was little likelihood of 
encountering any one whom she knew. Therefore Janetta 
was utterly abashed when a gentleman, who had met her, 
took off his hat, glanced at her curiously, and then turned 
back as if by a sudden impulse, and addressed her by 
name. 

“ Miss Colwyn, I think ? ” 

She looked up at him through a blinding haze of tears, 
and recognized the tall, spare figure, the fine sensitive 
face, the kind, dark eyes and intellectual forehead. The 

8 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


1 14 

coal-black beard and moustache nearly hid his mouth, 
but Janetta felt instinctively that this tell-tale feature 
would not belie the promise of the others. 

“ Sir Philip Ashley,” she murmured, in her surprise. 

“ I beg your pardon,” he said, with the courtesy that 
she so well remembered ; “ I stopped you on impulse, I 
fear, because I felt a great desire to express to you my 
deep sympathy with you in your loss. It may seem im- 
pertinent for me to speak, but I knew your father and re- 
spected and trusted him. We had some correspondence 
about sanitary matters, and I was greatly relying on his 
help in certain reforms that I wish to institute in Beaminster. 
He is a great loss to us all.” 

“ Thank you,” Janetta said unsteadily. 

“ Will you let me ask whether there is anything in which 
I can help you just now.” 

“ Oh, no, nothing, thank you.” She had brushed away 
the involuntary tear, and smiled bravely as she replied. 
“ I did not think that I should meet anybody : it was 
simply that I was disappointed about — about — some 
lessons that I hoped to get. Quite a little disappoint- 
ment, you see.” 

“ Was it a little disappointment ? Do you want to give 
lessons — singing lessons ? ” 

“ Yes ; but nobody will have me to teach them,” said 
Janetta, laughing nervously. 

Sir Philip looked back at the house which they had 
just passed. “ That is Miss Morrison’s school : you came 
out of it, did you not? Does she not need your help ? ” 

4t I do not suit her.” 

“ Why ? Did she try your voice ? ” 

“ Oh, no. It was for other reasons. She was pre- 
judiced against me,” said Janetta, with a little gulp. 

“ Prejudiced ? But why ? — may I ask ? ” 

“ Oh, she had heard something she did not like. It 
does not matter : I shall get other pupils by-and-bye.” 

“ Is it important to you to have pupils ? ” Sir Philip 
asked, as seriously and anxiously as if the fate of the 
empire depended on his reply. 

“ Oh, most important.” Janetta’s face and voice were 
more pathetic than she knew. Sir Philip was silent for a 
moment. 

“ I have heard you sing,” he said at length, in his grave, 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


"S 

earnest way. “I_am sure that I should have no hesita- 
tion in recommending you — if my recommendation were of 
any use. My mother may perhaps hear of somebody who 
wants lessons, if you will allow me to mention the matter 
to her.” 

“ 1 shall be very much obliged to you,” said Janetta, 
feeling grateful and yet a little startled— it did not seem 
natural to her in her sweet humility that Sir Philip and 
his mother should interest themselves in her welfare. 
“ Oh, very much obliged.” 

Sir Philip raised his hat and smiled down kindly upon 
her as he said good-bye. He had been interested from 
the very first in Margaret’s friend. And he had always 
been vaguely conscious that Margaret’s friendship was not 
likely to produce any very desirable results. 

Janetta went on her way, feeling for the moment a little 
less desolate than she had felt before. Sir Philip turned 
homewards to seek his mother, who was a woman of 
whom many people stood in awe, but whose kindness of 
heart was never known to fail. To her Sir Philip at once 
poured out his story with the directness and Quixotic 
ardor which some of his friends found incomprehensible, 
not to say absurd. But Lady Ashley never thought so. 

She smiled very kindly as her son finished his little tale. 

“ She is really a good singer, you say ? Mr. Colwyn’s 
daughter. I have seen him once or twice.” 

“ He was a good fellow.” 

“ Yes, I believe so. Miss Morrison’s school, did you 
mention ? Why, Mabel Hartley is there.” Mabel Hart- 
ley was a distant cousin of the Ashleys. “I will call to- 
morrow, Philip, and find out what the objection is to Miss 
Colwyn. If it can be removed I don’t see why she should 
not teach Mabel, who, I remember, has a voice.” 

Lady Ashley carried out her intention, and announced 
the result to her son the following evening. 

“ I have not succeeded, dear. Miss Morrison has been 
prejudiced by some report from Miss Polehampton, with 
whom Miss Colwyn and Margaret Adair were at school. 
She said that the two girls were expelled together.” 

Sir Philip was silent for a minute or two. His brows 
contracted. “ I was afraid,” he said, “ that Miss Adair’s 
championship of her friend had not been conducted in the 
wisest possible manner, She has done Miss Colwyn com- 
giderable harm.” 


n6 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Lady Ashley glanced at him inquiringly. She was 
particularly anxious that he should marry Margaret Adair. 

“ Is Lady Caroline at home ? ” her son asked, after 
another and a longer pause. 

“ Yes. She came home yesterday — with dear Margaret. 
I am sure, Philip, that Margaret does not know it if she 
has done harm.” 

“ 1 don’t suppose she does, mother. I am sure she 
would not willingly injure any one. But I think that she 
ought to know the circumstances of the case.” 

And then he opened a book and began to read. 

Lady Ashley never remonstrated. But she raised her 
eyebrows a little over this expression of Sir Philip’s 
opinion. If he were going to try to tutor Margaret Adair, 
whose slightest wish had never yet known contradiction, 
she thought it probable that the much-wished f or marriage 
would never take place at all. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


117 


CHAPTER XV. 

A BONE OF CONTENTION. 

Poor Janetta, plodding away at her music lessons and 
doing the household work of her family, never guessed that 
she was about to become a bone of contention. But such 
she was fated to be, and that between persons no less dis- 
tinguished than Lady Caroline Adair and Sir Philip Ashley 
- — not to speak of Sir Philip and Margaret ! 

Two days after Janetta’s unexpected meeting with Sir 
Philip, that gentleman betook himself to Helmsley Court 
in a somewhat warm and indignant mood. He had seen 
a good deal of Margaret during the autumn months. They 
had been members of the same house-party in more than 
one great Scottish mansion : they had boated together, 
fished together, driven and ridden and walked together, 
until more than one of Lady Caroline’s acquaintances had 
asked, with a covert smile, “ how soon she might be 
allowed to congratulate ”... The sentence was 
never quite finished, and Lady Caroline never made any 
very direct reply. Margaret was too young to think of 
these things, she said. But other people were very ready 
to think of them for her. 

The acquaintance had therefore progressed a long way 
since the day of Margaret's return from school. And yet 
it had not gone quite so far as onlookers surmised, or as 
Lady Caroline wished. Sir Philip was most friendly, most 
attentive, but he was also somewhat absurdly unconscious 
of remark. His character had a simplicity which occasion- 
ally set people wondering. He was perfectly frank and 
manly : he spoke without arriere-pensee , he meant what he 
said, and was ready to believe that other people meant it 
too. He had a pleasant and courteous manner in society, 
and liked to be on friendly terms with every one he met ; 
but at the same time he was not at all like the ordinary 
society man, and had not the slightest idea that he differed 
from any such person — as indeed he did. He had very 


1 18 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


high aims and ideals, and he took it for granted, with a 
really charming simplicity, that other people had similar 
aims and similar (if not higher) ideals. Consequently he 
now and then ran his head against a wall, and was laughed 
at by commonplace persons ; but those who knew him 
well loved him all the better for his impracticable schemes 
and expectations. 

But to Margaret he seemed rather like a firebrand. He 
took interest in things of which she had never heard, or 
which she regarded with a little delicate disdain. A steam- 
laundry in Beaminster, for example — what had a man like 
Sir Philip Ashley to do with a steam-laundry ? And yet he 
was establishing one in the old city, and actually assuring 
people that it would “ pay.” He had been exerting him- 
self about the drainage of the place and the dwellings of 
the poor. Margaret was sorry in a vague way for the 
poor, and supposed that drainage had to be “ seen to ” 
from time to time, but she did not want to hear anything 
about it. She liked the pretty little cottages in the village 
of Helmsley, and she did not mind begging for a holiday for 
the school children (who adored her) now and then ; and 
' she had heard with pleasure of Lady Ashley’s pattern aim- 
houses and dainty orphanage, where the old women wore 
red cloaks, and the children were exceedingly picturesque ; 
but as a necessary consequence of her life-training, she did 
not want to know anything about disease or misery or sin. 
And Sir Philip could not entirely keep these subjects out 
of his conversation, although he tried to be very careful 
not to bring a look that he knew well — a look of shocked 
repulsion and dislike — to Margaret’s tranquil face. 

She welcomed him with her usual sweetness that after- 
noon. He thought that she looked lovelier than ever. 
The day was cold, and she wore a dark-green dress with a 
good deal of gold embroidery about it, which suited her 
perfectly. Lady Caroline, too, was graciousness itself. 
She received him in her own little sitting-room — a gem of 
a room into which only her intimate friends were admitted, 
and made him welcome with all the charm of manner for 
which she was distinguished. And to add to her virtues, 
she presently found that she had letters to write, and retired 
into an adjoining library, leaving the door open between 
the two rooms, so that Margaret might still be considered 
as under her chaperonage, although conversation could be 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


119 


conducted without any fear of her overhearing what was 
said. Lady Caroline knew so exactly what to do and what 
to leave undone ! 

As soon as she was gone, Sir Philip put down his tea- 
cup and turned with an eager movement t® Margaret. 

“ I have been wanting to speak to you,” he said. “ I 
have something special — something important to say.” 

“ Yes ? ” said Margaret, sweetly. She flushed a little 
and looked down. She was not quite ignorant of what 
every one was expecting Sir Philip Ashley to say. 

“ Can you listen to me for a minute or two ? ” he said, 
with the gentle eagerness of manner, the restrained ardor 
which he was capable — unfortunately for him — of putting 
into his most trivial requests. u You are sure you will not 
be impatient? ” 

Margaret smiled. Should she accept him ? she was 
thinking. After all, he was very nice, in spite of his little 
eccentricities. And really — with his fine features, his tall 
stature, his dark eyes, and coal-black hair and beard — he 
was an exceedingly handsome man. 

“ I want you to help me,” said Sir Philip, in almost a 
coaxing tone. “ I want you to carry out a design that I 
have formed. Nobody can do it but you. Will you help 
me ? ” 

“ If I can,” said Margaret, shyly. 

“ You are always good and kind,” said Sir Philip, 
warmly. “ Margaret — may I call you Margaret ? I have 
known you so long.” 

This seemed a little Irregular, from Miss Adair’s point of 
view. 

“I don’t know whether mamma ” she began, and 

stopped. 

“ Whether she would like it ? I don’t think she would 
mind : she suggested it the other day, in fact. She always 
calls me 1 Philip,’ you know : perhaps you would do the 
same ? ” 

Again Margaret smiled ; but there was a touch of inquiry 
in her eyes as she glanced at him. She did not know very 
much about proposals of marriage, but she fancied that 
Sir Philip’s manner of making one was peculiar. And she 
had had it impressed upon her so often that he was about 
to make one that it could hardly be considered strange if 
his manner somewhat bewildered her. 


120 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ I want to speak to you,” said the young man, lowering 
his earnest voice a little, “about your friend, Miss Colwyn.” 

Now, why did the girl flush scarlet ? Why did her 
hand tremble a little as she put down her cup ? Philip 
lost the thread of the conversation for a minute or two, 
and simply looked at her. Then Margaret quietly took 
down a screen from the mantel-piece and began to fan her- 
self. “ It is rather hot here, don’t you think ? ” she said, 
serenely. “ The fire makes one feel quite uncomfortable.” 

“It is a large one,” said Sir Philip, with conviction. 
“ Shall I take any of the coal off for you ? No ? Well, as 
I was saying, I wished to speak to you about your friend, 
Miss Colwyn.” 

“She has lost her father lately, poor thing,” said Mar- 
garet, conversationally. “ She has been very unhappy.” 

“ Yes, and for more reasons than one. You have not 
seen her, I conclude, since his death ? ” 

“ No, he died in August or September, did he not? It 
is close upon December now — what a long time we have 
been away ! Poor Janetta ! — how glad she will be to see 
me ! ” 

“ I am sure she will. But it would be just as well for 
you to hear beforehand that her father’s death has brought 
great distress upon the family. I have had some talk with 
friends of his, and I find that he left very little money 
behind.” 

“ How sad for them ! But — they have not removed ? — 
they are still at their old house : I thought everything was 
going on as usual,” said Margaret, in a slightly puzzled 
tone. 

“The house belongs to them, so they might as well 
live in it. Two or three of the familly have got situa- 
tions of some kind — one child is in a charitable institution, 
I believe.” 

“ Oh, how dreadful ! Like Lady Ashley’s Orphanage ? ” 
said Margaret, shrinking a little. 

“ No, no ; nothing of that kind — an educational estab- 
lishment, to which he has got a nomination. But the 
mother and the two or three children are still at home, and 
I believe that their income is not more than a hundred a 
year.” 

Sir Philip was considerably above the mark. But the 
mention of even a hundred a year, though not a large 
income, produced little impression upon Margaret. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


121 


“ That is not very much, is it ? ” she said, gently. 

“ Much ! I should think not,” said Sir Philip, driven 
almost to discourtesy by the difficulty of making her under- 
stand. “ Four or five people to live upon it and keep up 
a position !. It is semi-starvation and misery.” 

u But, Sir Philip, does not Janetta give lessons ? I 
should have thought she could make a perfect fortune by 
her music alone. Plasn’t she tried to get something to 
do?” 

“ Yes, indeed, poor girl, she has. My mother has been 
making inquiries, and she finds that Miss Cohvyn has ad- 
vertised and done everything she could think of — with very 
little result. I myself met her three or four days ago, 
coming away from Miss Morrison’s, with tears in her eyes. 
She had failed to get the post of music-teacher there.” 

“ But why had she failed ? She can sing and play beau- 
tifully ! ” 

“ Ah, I wanted you to ask me that ! She failed — because 
Miss Morrison was a friend of Miss Polehampton’s, and 
she had heard some garbled and distorted account of Miss 
Colwyn’s dismissal from that school.” 

Sir Philip did not look at her as he spoke : he fancied 
that she would be at once struck with horror and even with 
shame, and he preferred to avert his eyes during the 
moment’s silence that followed upon his account of 
Janetta’s failure to get work. But, when Margaret spoke, 
a very slight tone of vexation was the only discoverable 
trace of any such emotion. 

“ Why did not Janetta explain ? ” 

Sir Philip’s lips moved, but he said nothing. 

“ That affair cannot be the reason why she has obtained 
so little work, of course ? ” 

“ I am afraid that to some extent it is.” 

“ Janetta could so easily have explained it ! ” 

“ May I ask how she could explain it ? Write a letter 
to the local paper, or pay a series of calls to declare that 
she had not been to blame ? Do you think that any one 
would have believed her ? Besides — you call her your 
friend : could she exculpate herself without blaming you ; 
and do you think that she would do that? ” 

“ Without blaming me ? ” repeated Margaret. She rose 
to her full height, letting the fan fall between her hands, 
and stood silently confronting him. “ But,” she said, slo^T- 
1 y — “ I — I was not to blame/’ 


122 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Sir Philip bowed. 

*' You think that I was to blame?” 

“ I think that you acted on impulse, without much con- 
sideration for Miss Colwyn’s future. I think that you 
have done her an injury — which I am sure you will be only 
too willing to repair/’ 

He began rather sternly, he ended almost tenderly — 
moved as he could not fail to be by the soft reproach of 
Margaret’s eyes. 

“ I cannot see that I have done her any injury at all ; 
and I really do not know how I can repair it,” said the 
girl, with a cold stateliness which ought to have warned 
Sir Philip that he was in danger of offending. But Philip 
was rash and warm-hearted, and he had taken up Janetta’s 
cause. 

“Your best way of repairing it,” he said, earnestly, 
“ would be to call on Miss Morrison yourself and explain 
the matter to her, as Miss Colwyn cannot possibly do — 
unless she is a very different person from the one I take 
her for. And if that did not avail, go to Miss Polehamp- 
ton and persuade her to write a letter ” 

He stopped somewhat abruptly. The look of profound 
astonishment on Margaret’s face recalled him to a sense of 
limitations. “ Margaret ! ” he said, pleadingly, “ won’t you 
be generous ? You can afford to do this thing for your 
friend ! ” 

“ Go to Miss Morrison and explain ! Persuade Miss 
Polehampton ! — after the way she treated us ! But really 
it is too ridiculous, Sir Philip. You do not know my friend, 
Miss Colwyn. She would be the last person to wish me 
to humiliate myself to Miss Polehampton ! ” 

“ I do not see that what she wishes has much to do with 
it,” said Sir Philip, very stiffly. “ Miss Colwyn is suffer- 
ing under an injustice. I ask you to repair that injustice. 
I really do not see how you can refuse.” 

Margaret looked as if she were about to make some 
mutinous reply ; then she compressed her lips and lowered 
her eyes for a few seconds. 

“ I will ask mamma what she thinks,” she said at last, 
in her usual even tones. 

“ Why should you ask her ? ” said Sir Philip, impetuous- 
ly. “ What consultation is needed, when I simply beg you 
to be your own true self — that noble, generous self that X 
am sure you are ! Margaret, don’t disappoint me 1 ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


123 


“ I didn’t know,” said the girl, with proud deliberateness, 
“that you had any special interest in the matter, Sir 
Philip.” 

“ I have this interest — that I love you with all my heart, 
Margaret, and hope that you will let me call you my wife 
one day. It is this love, this hope, which makes me long 
to think of you as perfect — always noble and self-sacri- 
ficing and just ! Margaret, you will not forbid me to 
hope ? ” 

He had chosen a bad time for his declaration of love. 
He saw this, and his accent grew more and more suppli- 
cating, for he perceived that the look of repulsion, which 
he knew and hated, was already stealing into Margaret’s 
lovely eyes. She stood as if turned into stone, and did not 
answer a word. And it was on this scene that Lady Caro- 
line broke at that moment — a scene which, at first sight, 
gave the mother keen pleasure, for it had all the orthodox 
appearance of love-making : the girl, silent, downcast, em- 
barrassed ; the man passionate and earnest, with head 
bent towards her fair face, and hands outstretched in en- 
treaty. 

But poor Lady Caroline was soon to be undeceived, and 
her castle in the air to come tumbling down about her 
ears. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

SIR PHILIP’S OPINION. 

“ Is anything the matter ? ” said Lady Caroline, suavely. 

She had been undecided for a minute as to whether she 
had not better withdraw unseen, but the distressed expres- 
sion on her daughter’s face decided her to speak. She 
might at least prevent Margaret from saying anything 
foolish. 

Sir Philip drew back a little. Margaret went — almost 
hurriedly — up to her mother, and put her hand into Lady 
Caroline’s. 

“ Will you tell him? will you explain to him, please? ” 
she said. “ I do not want to hear any more : I would 
rather not. We could never understand each other, and I 
should be very unhappy.” 


124 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Sir Philip made an eager gesture, but Lady Caroline 
silenced him by an entreating glance and then looked 
straight into her daughter’s eyes. Their limpid hazel 
depths were troubled now : tears were evidently very near, 
and Lady Caroline detested tears. 

“ My darling child,” she said, “ you must not agitate 
yourself. You shall hear nothing that you do not want to 
hear. Sir Philip would never say anything that would 
pain you.” 

“ I have asked her to be my wife,” said Sir Philip, very 
quietly, “ and I hope that she will not refuse to hear me 
say that, at least.” 

“ But that was not all,” said Margaret, suddenly turning 
on him her grieving eyes — eyes that always looked so much 
more grieved than their owner felt — and her flushing, quiver 
ing face : “ You told me first that I was wrong — selfish and 
unjust ; and you want me to humiliate myself — to say that 
it was my fault ” 

“ My dearest Margaret ! ” exclaimed Lady Caroline, in 
amaze, “what can you mean? Philip, are we dreaming? 
— Darling child, come with me to your room : you 
had better lie down for a little time while I talk to Sir 
Philip. Excuse me a moment, Sir Philip — I will come 
back.” 

Margaret allowed herself to be led from the room. This 
outbreak of emotion was almost unprecedented in her his- 
tory ; but then Sir Philip had attacked her on her tenderest 
side — that of her personal dignity. Margaret Adair found 
it very hard to believe that she was as others are, and not 
made of a different clay from them. 

Some little time elapsed before Lady Caroline’s return. 
She had made Margaret lie down, administered sal volatile, 
covered her with an eiderdown quilt, and seen her maid 
bathing the girl’s forehead with eau de Cologne and water 
before she came back again. And all this took time. She 
apologized very prettily for her delay, but Sir Philip did 
not seem to heed her excuses : he was standing beside the 
fire, meditatively tugging at his black beard, and Lady 
Caroline had some difficulty in thinking that she could 
read the expression of his face. 

“ I do not quite understand all this,” she said, with her 
most amiable expression of countenance, as she seated her- 
self on the other side of the soft white hearthrug. “ Mar- 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


125 


garet mentioned Miss Colwyn’s name : I am quite at a 
loss to imagine how Miss Colwyn comes to be mixed up 
in the matter.” 

“ I am very sorry,” said Sir Philip, ruefully. “ I never 
thought that there would be any difficulty. I seem to have 
offended Margaret most thoroughly.” 

Lady Caroline smiled. “ Girls soon forget a man’s 
offences,” she said, consolingly. “ What did you say ? ” 
And then Sir Philip, with some hesitation, told the story 
of his plea for Janetta Colwyn. 

The smile was frozen on Lady Caroline’s lips. She sat 
up straight, and stared at her visitor. When he had quite 
ended his explanation, she said, as icily as she knew how 
to speak — 

“ And you asked my daughter to justify Miss Colwyn at 
the cost of her own feelings — I might almost say, of her 

own social standing in the neighborhood ! ” 

“ Isn’t that a little too strong, Lady Caroline? Your 
daughter’s social standing would not be touched in the 
least by an act of common justice. No one who heard 
of it but would honor her for exculpating her friend ! ” 

“ Exculpating ! My dear Philip, you are too Quixo- 
tic ! Nobody accuses either of the girls of anything but a 

little thoughtlessness and -defiance of authority ” 

“ Exactly,” said Philip, with some heat, “ and therefore 
while the report of it will not injure your daughter, it may 
do irreparable harm to a girl who has her own way to 
make in the world. The gossip of Beaminster tea-tables 
is not to be despised. The old ladies of Beaminster are 
all turning their backs on Miss Colwyn, because common 
report declares her to have been expelled — or dismissed — 
in disgrace from Miss Polehampton’s school. The fact 
that nobody knows exactly why she was dismissed adds 
weight to the injury. It is so easy to say, ‘They don’t 
tell why she was sent away — something too dreadful to be 
talked about,’ and so on. My mother tells me that there 
is a general feeling abroad that Miss Colwyn is not a person 
to be trusted with young girls. Now that is a terrible slur 
upon an innocent woman who has to earn her own living, 
Lady Caroline ; and I really must beg that you and Mar- 
garet will set yourselves to remove it.” 

“ Really, Philip ! Quite a tirade ! ” 

Lady Caroline laughed delicately as she spoke, and 


126 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


passed a lace handkerchief across her lips as though to 
brush away a smile. She was a little puzzled and rather 
vexed, but she did not wish to show her true opinion of 
Sir Philip and his views. 

“And so,” she went on, “you said all this to my poor 
child ; harrowed her feelings and wounded her self-respect, 
and insisted on it that she should go round Beaminster 
explaining that it was her fault and not Janetta Colwyn’s 
that Miss Polehampton acted in so absurdly arbitrary a 
manner ! ” 

“You choose to put it in that way,” said Sir Philip, 
drawing down his brows, “ and I cannot very well contra- 
dict you ; but I venture to think, Lady Caroline, that you 
know quite well what I mean.” 

“ I should be glad if you would put it into plain words. 
You wish Margaret — to do — what ? ” 

“ I very much wish that she would go to Miss Morrison 
and explain to her why Miss Colwyn left school. There 
is no need that she should take any blame upon herself. 
You must confess that it was she who took the law into 
her own hands, Lady Caroline : Miss Colwyn was perfect- 
ly ready to submit. And I think that as this occurrence 
has been made the ground for refusing to give Miss 
Colwyn the work that she urgently needs, it is Miss 
Adair’s plain duty to try at least to set the matter right. 
I do not see why she should refuse.” 

“You have no pride yourself, I suppose? Do you sup- 
pose that Mr. Adair would allow it ? ” 

“ Then you might do it for her, Lady Caroline,” said 
Sir Philip, turning round on her, with his winning, persua- 
sive manner, of which even at that moment she felt the 
charm. “ It would be so easy for you to explain it quietly 
to Miss Morrison, and ask her to give that poor girl a 
place in her school ! Who else could do it better ? If Mar- 
garet is not — not quite strong enough for the task, then 
will you not help us out of our difficulty, and do it for 
her?” 

“Certainly not, Sir Philip. Your request seems to me 
exceedingly unreasonable. I do not in the least believe 
that Miss Morrison has refused to take her for that reason 
only. There is some other, you may depend upon it. I 
shall not interfere.” 

“ You could at least give her a strong recommenda- 
tion.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


127 


“ I know nothing about the girl except that she sings 
fairly well,” said Lady Caroline, in a hard, determined 
voice. “ I do not want to know anything about her — she 
has done nothing but make mischief and cause contention 
ever since I heard her name. I begin to agree with Miss 
Polehampton — it was a most unsuitable friendship.” 

“ It has been a disastrous friendship for Miss Colwyn, 
I fear. You must excuse me if I say that it is hardly 
generous — after having been the means of the loss of her 
first situation— to refuse to help her in obtaining another.” 

“ I think I am the best judge of that. If you mean tc 
insinuate, Sir Philip, that your proposal for Margaret’s hand 
which we have talked over before, hinges on her coni' 
pliance with your wishes in this instance, you had better 
withdraw it at once.” 

“ You must be aware that I have no such meaning,” 
said Sir Philip, in a tone that showed him to be much 
wounded. 

“ I am glad — for your own sake — to hear it. Neither 
Mr. Adair nor myself could permit Margaret to lower her- 
self by going to explain her past conduct to a second-rate 
Beaminster schoolmistress.” 

Sir Philip stood silent, downcast, his eyebrows contract- 
ing over his eyes until — as Lady Caroline afterwards 
expressed it — he positively scowled. 

“ You disagree with me, I presume ? ” she inquired, with 
some irony in her tone. 

“ Yes, Lady Caroline, I do disagree with you. I thought 
that you — and Margaret — would be more generous towards 
a fatherless girl.” 

“ You must excuse me if I say that your interest in ‘ a 
fatherless girl* is somewhat out of place, Sir Philip. You 
are a young man, and it is not quite seemly for you to 
make such a point of befriending a little music governess. 
I am sorry to have to speak so plainly, but I must say 
that I do not think such interest befits a. gentleman, and 
especially one who has been asking us for our daughter.” 

“ My love for Margaret,” said Sir Philip, gravely, “ can- 
not blind me to other duties.” 

“ There are duties in the world,” rejoined Lady Caroline, 
“ between which we sometimes have to choose. It seems 
to me that you may have to choose between your love for 
Margaret and your ‘ interest * in Janetta Colwyn.” 


128 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ I hardly think,” said her guest, “ that I deserve this 
language, Lady Caroline. However, since these are your 
opinions, I can but say that I deeply regret them — and 
take my leave. If you or Miss Adair should wish to recall 
me you have but to send me a word — a line : I shall be 
ready to come. Your daughter knows my love for her. I 
am not yet disposed to give up all hope of a recall.” 

And then he took his leave with a manner of punctilious 
politeness which, oddly enough, made Lady Caroline feel 
herself in the wrong mere than anything that he had said. 
She was more ruffled than Margaret had ever seen her 
when at last she sought the girl’s room shortly before the 
ringing of the dressing-bell. 

She found Margaret looking pale and a little frightened, 
but perfectly composed. She came up to Lady Caroline 
and put her arms round her mother’s neck with a caress- 
ing movement. 

“ Dear mamma,” she said, “ I am afraid I was not quite 
polite to Sir Philip.” 

“ I think, dear, that Sir Philip was scarcely polite to you. 

I am not at all satisfied with his conduct. He is quite 
unreasonable.” 

Margaret slowly withdrew her arms from her mother’s 
neck, looked at her uneasily, and looked down again. 

“ He thinks that I ought to do something for Janetta — 
to make people think well of her, I suppose.” 

“ Pie is utterly preposterous,” said Lady Caroline. 

“ Do you think I ought to go to Miss Morrison about 
Janetta, mamma?” 

“No, indeed, my dearest. Your father would never 
hear of it.” 

“ I should like to do all that I could for her. I am very 
fond of her, indeed I am, although Sir Philip thinks me so 
selfish.” And Margaret’s soft hazel eyes filled with tears, 
which fell gently over her delicate cheeks without distort- 
ing her features in the least. 

“Don’t cry, my darling; please don’t cry,” said her 
mother, anxiously. “Your eyelids will be red all the 
evening, and papa will ask what is the matter. Have you 
any rose water ? — Of course you will do all you can for 
your poor little friend : you are only too fond of her — 
too generous ! — Sir Philip does not understand you as I do ; 
he has disappointed me very much this afternoon.” 


A 7 RUE FRIEND. 


129 


6C He was very unkind,” said Margaret, with the faintest 
possible touch of resentment in her soft tones. 

“ Think no more of him for the present, dear. I dare 
say he will be here to-morrow, penitent and abashed. 
There goes the dressing-bell. Are you ready for Markham 
now? Put on your pink dress.” 

She spoke pleasantly, and even playfully, but she gave 
Margaret a searching glance, as though she would have 
read the girl’s heart if she could. But she was reassured. 
Margaret was smiling now; she was as calm as ever; she 
had brushed the tears from her eyes with a filmy handker- 
chief and looked perfectly serene. “ I am rather glad that 
you have found Sir Philip unreasonable, mamma,” she 
said, placidly ; “ I always thought so, but you did not 
quite agree with me.” 

“ The child’s fancy is untouched,” said Lady Caroline 
to herself as she went back to her room, “ and I am thank- 
ful for it. She is quite capable of a little romantic folly if 
nobody is near to put some common-sense into her some- 
times. And Philip Ashley has no common-sense at all.” 

She was glad to see that at dinner Margaret’s serenity was 
still unruffled. When Mr. Adair grumbled at the absence 
of Sir Philip, whom he had expected to see that evening, 
the girl only looked down at her plate without a blush or 
a word of explanation. Lady Caroline drew her daughter’s 
arm through her own as they left the dining-room with a 
feeling that she was worthy of the race to which she 
belonged. 

But she was not in the least prepared for the first 
remark made by Margaret when they reached the drawing- 
room. 

“ Mamma, I must go to see Janetta to-morrow.” 

“ Indeed, dear? And why? ” 

“ To find out whether the things that Sir Philip has been 
saying are true.” 

“ No, Margaret, dear, you really must not do that, dar- 
ling. It would not be wise. What Sir Philip says does 
not matter to us. I cannot have you interfering with Miss 
Colwyn’s concerns in that way.” 

Margaret was very docile. She only said, after a mo- 
ment’s pause — 

“ May I not ask her to give me the singing lessons we 
arranged for me to take ? ” 


9 


130 


A TRUE PR TEND. 


Lady Caroline considered for a minute or two and then 
said — 

“Yes, dear, you may ask her about the singing lessons. 
In doing that you will be benefiting her, and giving her a 
practical recommendation that ought to be very valuable 
to her.” 

“ Shall I drive over to-morrow ? ” 

“ No, write and ask her to come here to lunch. Then 
we can arrange about hours. I have net the least objec- 
tion to your taking lessons from her .... especially as 
they are so cheap,” said Lady Caroline to herself, “ but I 
do not wish you to talk to her about Miss Polehampton’s 
conduct. There is no use in such discussions.” 

“ No, mamma,” said the dutiful Margaret. 

“ And Sir Philip will be pleased to hear that his favorite 
is being benefited,” said her mother, with a slightly sar- 
castic smile. 

Margaret held up her stately head. “ It matters very 
little to me whether Sir Philip is pleased or not,” she said 
with a somewhat lofty accent, not often heard from the 
gentle lips of Margaret Adair. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

MARGARET’S FRIENDSHIP. 

Margaret wrote her note to Janetta, and put her friend 
into something of a dilemma. She always felt it difficult 
to leave Mrs. Colwyn alone for many hours at a time. She 
had done her best to prevent her from obtaining stimulants, 
but it was no easy thing to make it impossible ; and it was 
always dangerous to remove a restraining influence. At 
last she induced an old friend, a Mrs. Maitland, to spend 
the day with her stepmother, while she went to Helmsley 
Court ; and having thus provided against emergencies, she 
was prepared to spend some pleasant hours with Margaret. 

The day was cold and frosty, with a blue sky overhead, 
and the ground hard as iron underfoot. A carriage was 
sent for Janetta, and the girl was almost sorry that she had 
to be driven to her destination, for a brisk walk would have 
been more to her taste on this brilliant December day. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


J 3 J 

But she was of course bound to make use of the carriage 
that came for her, and so she drove off in state, while Tiny 
and Jinks danced wildly on the doorstep and waved their 
hands to her in hilarious farewells. Mrs. Colwyn was se- 
cluding herself upstairs in high indignation at Janetta’s 
presumption — first, in going to Helmsley Court at all, and, 
secondly, in having invited Mrs. Maitland to come to 
dinner — but Janetta did her best to forget the vexations 
and anxieties of the day, and to prepare herself as best she 
might for the serene atmosphere of Helmsley Court. 

It was more than three months since her father’s death, 
and she had not seen Margaret for what seemed to her like 
a century. In those three months she had had some new 
and sad experiences, and she almost wondered whether 
Margaret would not think her changed beyond knowledge 
by the troubles of the past. But in this fancy Janetta only 
proved herself young at heart ; in later years she found, as 
we all find, that the outer man is little changed by the most 
terrible and heart-rending calamities. It was almost a 
surprise to Janetta that Margaret did not remark on her 
altered appearance. But Margaret saw nothing very dif- 
ferent in her friend. Her black mourning garments cer- 
tainly made her -look pale, but Margaret was not a suffi- 
ciently keen observer to note the additional depth of ex- 
pression in Janetta’s dark eyes, or the slightly pathetic 
look given to her features by the thinning of her cheeks 
and the droop of her finely curved mouth. Lady Caroline, 
however, noticed all these points, and was quite aware that 
these changes, slight though they were, gave force and 
refinement to the girl’s face. Secretly, she was embittered 
against Janetta, and this new charm of hers only added to 
her dislike. But, outwardly, Lady Caroline was sweetness 
and sympathy personified. 

“ You poor darling,” said Margaret, when she stood with 
Janetta in Miss Adair’s own little sitting-room, awaiting 
the sound of the luncheon bell ; “ what you must have suf- 
fered ! I have felt for you, Janetta — oh, more than I can 
tell ! You are quite pale, dear ; I do hope you are better 
and stronger than you were ? ” 

“ I am quite well, thank you,” said Janetta. 

“ But you must have had so much to bear ! If I lost my 
friends — my dear father or mother — I know I should be 
broken-hearted. You are so brave and good, Janetta, dear/’ 


I 3 2 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ I don’t feel so,” said Janetta, sorrowfully. “ I wish I 
did. It would be rather a comfort sometimes.” 

“ You have a great deal of trouble and care, I am 
afraid,” said Margaret, softly. She was resolved to be 
staunch to her friend, although Sir Philip had been so dis- 
agreeable about Janetta. She was going to show him 
that she could take her own way of showing friendship. 

“ There have been a good many changes in the family, 
and changes always bring anxieties with them,” said Ja- 
netta, firmly. She had particularly resolved that she would 
not complain of her troubles to the Adairs ; it would seem 
like asking them to help her — “sponging upon them,” as 
she disdainfully thought. Janetta had a very fair share of 
sturdy pride and independence with which to make her 
way through the world. 

Margaret would have continued the subject, but at that 
moment the bell rang, and Janetta was glad to go down- 
stairs. 

It was curious, as she remembered afterwards, to find 
that the splendors of the house, the elaboration of service, 
now produced not the slightest impression upon her. She 
had grown out of her former girlish feeling of insignificance 
in the presence of powdered footmen and fashionable 
ladies’ maids. The choice flowers, the silver plate, the 
dainty furniture and hangings, which had once excited and 
almost awed her imagination, were perceived by her with 
comparative indifference. She was a woman, not a child, 
and these things were but as toys to one who had stood so 
lately face to face with the larger issues of life and death. 

Mr. Adair and Lady Caroline talked pleasantly to her, 
utterly ignoring, of course, any change in her circumstances 
or recent source of trouble, and Janetta did her best to 
respond. It was by way of trying to introduce a pleasant 
subject of conversation that she said at length to her hos- 
tess — 

“ I met Sir Philip Ashley the other day. He is so kind 
as to say that he will try to find me some pupils.” 

“ Indeed,” said Lady Caroline, drily. She did not ap- 
prove of the introduction of Sir Philip’s name or of Janetta’s 
professional employment. Margaret flushed a little, and 
turned aside to give her mother’s poodle a sweet biscuit. 

“ Sir Philip is a kind, good fellow,” said Mr. Adair, who 
had not been admitted behind the scenes ; “ and I am sure 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


! 33 


that he will do what he can. Do you know his mother 
yet? No? Ah, she’s like an antique chatelaine : one of 
the stateliest, handsomest old ladies of the day. Is she not, 
Caroline ? ” 

“ She is very handsome,” said Lady Caroline, quietly, 
“ but difficult to get on with. She is the proudest woman 
I ever knew.” 

The servants were out of the room, or she would not 
have said so much. But it was just as well to let this pre- 
suming girl know what she might expect from Sir Philip’s 
mother if she had any designs upon him. Unfortunately 
her intended warning fell unheeded upon Janetta’s ear. 

“ Is she, indeed ? ” said Mr. Adair, with interest. He 
was the greatest gossip of the neighborhood. a She is one 
of the Beauchamps, and of course she has some pride of 
family. But otherwise — I never noticed much pride about 
her. Now, how does it manifest itself, do you think?” 

“ Really, Reginald,” said Lady Caroline, with her little 
smile ; “ how can I tell you? You must surely have no- 
ticed it for yourself. With her equals she is exceedingly 
pleasant ; but I never knew anyone who could repress in- 
solence or presumption with a firmer hand.” 

“ What a pleasant person ! ” said Mr. Adair, laughing 
and looking mirthfully at Margaret. “ We shall have to 
be on our good behavior when we see her, shall we not, 
my Pearl ? ” 

This turn of conversation seemed to Lady Caroline so 
unfortunate that she rose from the table as soon as possible, 
and adjourned further discussion of the Ashleys to another 
period. And it was after luncheon that she found occasion 
to say to Janetta, in her softiest, silkiest tones — 

“ Perhaps it would be better, dear Miss Colwyn, if you 
would be so very kind as not to mention Sir Philip Ashley 
to Margaret unless she speaks of him to you. There is 
some slight misunderstanding between them, and Sir Philip 
has not been here for a day or two ; but that it will be all 
cleared up very shortly, I have not the slightest doubt.” 

“ Oh, I am sure I hope so ! I am very sorry.” 

“ There is scarcely any occasion to be sorry ; it is quite 
a temporary estrangement, I am sure.” 

Janetta looked at Margaret with some concern when she 
had an opportunity of seeing her closely and alone, but she 
could distinguish no shade upon the girl’s fair brow, no 


*34 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


sadness in her even tones. Margaret talked about Jan- 
etta’s brothers and sisters, about music, about her recent 
visits^ as calmly as if she had not a care in the world. It 
was almost a surprise to Janetta when, after a little pause, 
she asked with some hesitation — 

“ You said you saw Sir Philip Ashley the other day ? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Janetta, blushing out of sympathy, and 
looking away, so that she did not see the momentary 
glance of keen inquiry which was leveled at her from 
Margaret’s hazel eyes. 

“What did he say to you, dear? ” asked Miss Adair. 

“ He spoke of my father — he was very kind,” said 
Janetta, unconscious that her answer sounded like a sub- 
terfuge in her friend’s ears. “ He asked me if I wanted 
pupils ; and he said that he would recommend me.” 

“ Oh,” said Margaret. Then, after another little pause 
— “ I daresay you have heard that we are not friends 
now ? ” 

“ Yes,” Janetta replied, not liking to say more. 

For a moment Margaret raised her beautiful eyebrows. 

“ So Sir Philip had told her already /” she said to her- 
self, with a little surprise. And she was not pleased with 
this mark of confidence on Sir Philip’s part. It did not 
occur to her that Lady Caroline had been Janetta’s 
informant. 

“ I refused him,” she said, quietly. “ Mamma is vexed 
about it, but she does not wish to force me to marry 
against my will, of course.” 

“ Oh, but surely, Margaret, dear, you will change your 
mind?” said Janetta. 

“ No, indeed,” Margaret answered, slightly lifting her 
graceful head. “ Sir Philip is not a man whom I would 
ever marry.” 

And then she changed the subject. “ See what a dear 
little piano I have in my sitting-room. Papa gave it to me 
the other day, so that I need not practice in the drawing- 
room. And what about our singing lessons, Janetta ? 
Could you begin them at once, or would you rather wait 
until after the Christmas holidays ? ” 

Janetta reflected. “ I should like to begin them at 
once, dear, if I can manage it.” 

“ Have you so many pupils, then ? ” Margaret asked 
quickly. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


135 


“ Not so very many ; but I mean — I am afraid I cannot 
spare time to come to Helmsley Court to give them. Do 
you go to Beaminster ? Would you very much mind 
coming to our house in G Wynne Street? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Margaret, ever courteous and mindful 
of her friend’s feelings. “ But I must speak to mamma. 
It may be a little difficult to have the horses out some- 
times .... that will be the only objection, I think.” 

But it seemed as if there were other objections. For 
Lady Caroline received the proposition very coldly. It 
really took her aback. It was one thing to have little 
Miss Colwyn to lunch once a week, and quite another to 
send Margaret to that shabby little house in Gywnne 
Street. 11 Who knows whether the drains are all right, and 
whether she may not get typhoid fever?” said Lady 
Caroline to herself, with a shudder. “ There are children 
in the house — they may develop measles or chicken-pox at 
any moment — you never know when children of that class 
are free from infection. And I heard an odd report about 
Mrs. Colwyn’s habits the other day. Oh, I think it is too 
great a risk.” 

But when she said as much after Janetta’s departure, she 
found Margaret for once recalcitrant. Margaret had her 
own views of propriety, and these were quite as firmly 
grounded as those of Lady Caroline. She had treated 
Janetta, she considered, with the greatest magnanimity, and 
she meant to be magnanimous to the end. She had made the 
gardener cut Miss Colwyn a basket of his best flowers and 
his choicest forced fruit ; she had herself directed the 
housekeeper to see that some game was placed under the 
coachman’s box when Miss Colwyn was driven home ; and 
she had sent a box of French sweets to Tiny, although she 
had never seen that young lady in her life, and had a 
vague objection to all Janetta’s relations. She felt, there- 
fore, perfectly sure that she had done her duty, and she 
was not to be turned aside from, the path of right. 

44 1 don’t think that I shall run into any danger, 
mamma,” she said, quietly. “ The children are to be kept 
out of the way, and I shall -see nobody but Janetta. She 
said so, very particularly. I daresay she thought of these 
things.” 

11 1 don’t see why she should not come here.” 

“ No, nor I. But she says that she has so much to do.” 


i 3 6 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“Then it could not be true that she had no pupils, as 
she told Sir Philip,” said Lady Caroline, looking at her 
daughter. 

Margaret was silent for a little time. Then she said, 
very deliberately — 

“ I am almost afraid, mamma, that Janetta is not quite 
straightforward.” 

“ That was always my own idea,” said Lady Caroline, 
rather eagerly. “ I never quite trusted her, darling.” 

“ We always used to think her so truthful and cour- 
ageous,” said Margaret, with regret. “ But I am afraid 

You know, mamma, I asked her what Sir Philip said to her, 
and she did not say a single word about having talked to 
him of our leaving Miss Polehampton’s. She said he had 
spoken of her father, and of getting pupils for her, and so 
on.” 

“Very double-faced ! ” commented Lady Caroline. 

“And — mamma, she must have seen Sir Philip again, 
because he had told her that we — that I — that we had 
quarreled a little, you know.” And Margaret really 
believed that she was speaking the truth. 

“ I think it is quite shocking,” said Lady Caroline. 
“And I really do not understand, dearest, why you still 
persist in your infatuation for her. You could drop her 
easily now, on the excuse that you cannot go to Beaminster 
so often.” 

“ Yes, I know I could, mamma,” said Margaret, quietly. 
“ But if you do not mind, I would rather not do so. 
You see, she is really in rather difficult circumstances. Her 
father has left them badly off, I suppose, and she has not 
many advanced pupils in Beaminster. We always pro- 
mised that she should give me lessons ; and if we draw 
back now, we may be doing her real harm ; but if I take 
— say, a dozen lessons, we shall be giving her a recom- 
mendation, which, no doubt, will do her a great deal of 
good. And after that, when she is ‘ floated,’ we can easily 
drop her if we wish. But it would be hardly kind to do it 
just now, do you think? ” 

“ My darling, you are quite too sweet,” said Lady Caro- 
line, languidly. “ Come and kiss me. You shall have 
your way — until Easter, at any rate.” 

“ We should be giving Sir Philip no reason to blame us 
for want of generosity, either,” said Margaret. 


A TRUE I'RIEND. 


*37 


“ Exactly, my pet." 

There was again a silence, which Margaret broke at last 
by saying, with gentle pensiveness — - 

“ Do you think that she will ask me to be her brides- 
maid, mamma, if she marries Sir Philip ? I almost fancy 
that I should decline." 

“ I should think that you would,” said Lady Caroline. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A NEW FRIEND. 

Margaret’s presents of fruit, flowers, and game con- 
ciliated Mrs. Colwyn’s good-will, and she made no objec- 
tion when Janetta informed her a few days later that Miss 
Adair’s singing lessons were about to begin. There was 
time for two lessons only before Christmas Day, but they 
were to be continued after the first week in the New Year 
until Margaret went to town. Janetta was obliged, out of 
sheer shame, to hide from Mrs. Colwyn the fact that Lady 
Caroline had tried to persuade her to lower the already 
very moderate terms of payment, on the ground that her 
daughter would have to visit Gwynne Street for her 
lessons. 

However, the first lesson passed off well enough. Mar- 
garet brought more gifts of flowers and game, and sub- 
mitted gracefully to Janetta’s instructions. There was no 
time for conversation, for the carriage came punctually 
when an hour had elapsed, and Margaret, as she dutifully 
observed, did not like to keep the horses waiting. She 
embraced Janetta very affectionately at parting, and was 
able to assure Lady Caroline afterwards that she had not 
seen any other member of the family. 

Just as Miss Adair’s carriage drove away from Mrs. Col- 
wyn’s door, another — a brougham this time — was driven 
up. “ The Colwyns must be having a party,” said a rather 
censorious neighbor, who was sitting with a friend in the 
bow-window of the next house. “ Or else they are having 
very fine pupils indeed.” “ That’s not a pupil,” said her 
companion, craning forward to get a better view of the 
visitor ; “ that’s Lady Ashley, Sir Philip Ashley’s mother. 
What’s she come for, I wonder ? " 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Janetta wondered too. 

She was greatly impressed by Lady Ashley’s personality. 
The lofty forehead, the aquiline nose, the well-marked eye- 
brows, the decided chin, the fine dark eyes, all recalled 
Sir Philip to her mind, and she said to herself that when 
his hair became silvery too, the likeness between him and 
his mother would be more striking still. The old lady’s 
dignified manner did not daunt her as Lady Caroline’s 
caressing tones often did. There was a sincerity, a grave 
gentleness in Lady Ashley’s way of speaking which Janetta 
thoroughly appreciated. “ Lady Ashley is a true grande 
dame, while Lady Caroline is only a fine lady,” she said to 
herself, when analyzing her feelings afterwards. “And I 
know which I like best.” 

Lady Ashley, on her side, was pleased with Janetta’s 
demeanor. She liked the plainness of her dress, the quiet 
independence of her manner, and the subdued fire of her 
great dark eyes. She opened proceedings in a very friendly 
way. 

“ My son has interested me in your career, Miss Col- 
wyn,” she said, “ and I have taken the liberty of calling in 
order to ask what sort of teaching you are willing to under- 
take. I may hear of some that will suit you.” 

“ You are very kind,” Janetta answered. “ I was 
music governess at Miss Polehampton’s, and I think that 
music is my strong point ; but I should be quite willing to 
teach other things — if I could get any pupils.” 

“ And how is it that you do not get any pupils ? ” 

Janetta hesitated, but a look into the old lady’s benevo- 
lent face invited confidence. She answered steadily — 

“ I am afraid that my sudden departure from Miss Pole- 
hampton’s school has prejudiced seme people against 
me.” 

“ And could not somebody write to Miss Polehampton 
and get her to give you a testimonial? ” 

“ 1 am afraid she would refuse.” 

“ And that is all Margaret Adair’s fault, is it not ? ” said 
Lady Ashley, shrewdly but kindly. 

She was amused to see the flush of indignation in Janet- 
ta’s face. “ Margaret's fault ? Oh no, Lady Ashley. It 
was not Margaret’s fault any more than mine. We were 
both not very — not very respectful, perhaps, but I was, if 
anything, much worse than Margaret. And she shared my 
fate with me ; she left when I did.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


139 


“ You are a staunch friend, I see. And are you friendly 
with her still ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” said Janetta, with enthusiasm. “ She is so 
good — so kind — so beautiful ! She has been here to-day 
to have a singing lesson — perhaps you saw her drive away 
just as you came up ? She brought me these lovely flowers 
this afternoon.” 

There was a kindly look in Lady Ashley’s eyes. 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” she said. “ And now, my 
dear, would you mind singing me something? I shall be 
better able to speak of your qualifications when I have 
heard you.” 

“ I shall be very pleased to sing to you,” said Janetta, 
and she sat down to the piano with a readiness which 
charmed Lady Ashley as much as the song she sang, 
although she sang it delightfully. 

“ That is very nice — very nice indeed,” murmured Lady 
Ashley. Then she deliberated for a moment, and nodded 
her head once or twice. “ You have been well taught,” 
she said, “ and you have a very sympathetic voice. Would 
you mind singing at an evening party for me in the course 
of the winter ? You will be seen and heard ; and you may 
get pupils in that way.” 

Janetta could but falter out a word of thanks. An in- 
troduction of this sort was certainly not to be despised. 

“ I will let you know when it takes place,” said Lady 
Ashley, “and give you a hint or two about the songs. 
Will two guineas an evening satisfy you as you are a begin- 
ner? — for two songs, I mean? Very well, then, I shall 
count upon you for my next evening party.” 

She was rising to go, when the door was suddenly thrown 
open, and a tall, untidy figure made its appearance in the 
aperture. The daylight had almost faded, and the fire gave 
a very uncertain light — perhaps it was for that reason that 
Mrs. Colwyn took no notice of Lady Ashley, and began to 
speak in a thick, broken voice. 

“It’s shameful, shameful!” she said. “Visitors all 
afternoon — never brought them — t’see me — once. Singing 
and squalling all the time — not able to get a wink — wink 
o’ sleep ” 

“ Oh, please, come away,” said Janetta, going.hurriedly 
up to the swaying figure in the faded dressing-gown, and 
trying gently to force her backwards. “ I will tell you all 
about it afterwards ; please come away just now.” 


140 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ I’ll not come away,” said Mrs. Colwyn, thickly. “ 1 
want some money — money — send Phcebe for a drop o’ 
gin ” 

“ I’ll go, my dear Miss Colwyn,” said Lady Ashley, 
kindly. She was touched by the despair in Janetta’s face. 
“ I can’t do any good, I am afraid. You shall hear from 
me again. Don’t come to the door. Shall I send my 
servants to you ? ” 

“Who’s that? Who’s that?” screamed the half-mad- 
dened woman, beginning to fling herself wildly out of 
Janetta’s restraining arms. “ Let me get at her, you bad 
girl ! letting people into my house ” 

“ Can you manage ? Do you want help ? ” said Lady 
Ashley, quickly. 

“ No, no, nothing ; I can manage if you will only please 
go,” Janetta cried, in her desperation. And Lady Ashley, 
seeing that her departure was really wished for, hurried 
from the house. And Janetta, after some wrestling and 
coaxing and argument, at last succeeded in putting her 
Stepmother to bed, and then sat down and wept heartily. 

What would Lady Ashley think ? And how could she 
now recommend pupils to go to a house where a drunken 
woman was liable at any moment to appear upon the 
scene ? 

As a matter of fact, this was just what Lady Ashley was 
saying at that moment to her son. 

“She is a thorough little gentlewoman, Philip, and a 
good musician ; but, with such a connection, how can 1 
send any one to the house ? ” 

“ It was unlucky, certainly,” said Sir Philip, “ but you 
must remember that you came unexpectedly. Her pupils’ 
hours will be guarded, most probably, from interruption.” 

“ One could never be sure. I have been thinking of 
sending Miss Bevan to her. But suppose a contretemps 
of this kind occurred ! Poor Mary Bevan would never get 
over it.” 

“ It is her stepmother, not her own mother,” said Sir 
Philip, after a little pause. “ Not that that makes it much 
better for her, poor little thing 1 ” 

“ I assure you, Philip, it went to my heart to see that 
fragile girl struggling with that big woman. I would have 
helped her, but she entreated me to go, and so I came away. 
What else could I do ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


14 * 

“ Nothiag, I suppose. There may be murder committed 
in that house any day, if this state of things goes on.” 

Lady Ashley sighed. Sir Philip walked about the room, 
with his hands in his pockets and his head bent on his 
breast. 

“ Margaret Adair had been there to-day,” said his mo- 
ther, watching him. 

Sir Philip looked lip. 

“ Why ? ” he said, keenly. 

“ To take a singing lesson. She had brought flowers. 
Miss Cohvyn spoke of her very warmly, and when I touched 
on the subject of Miss Polehampton’s treatment, would not 
allow that Margaret had anything to do with it. She is a 
very faithful little person, I should think.” 

“ Far more generous than Margaret,” muttered her son. 
Then, sombrely, “ I never told you what happened at 
Helmsley Court the other day. Margaret refused me.” 

“ Refused you — entirely ? ” 

“ No appeal possible.” 

“ On What grounds ? ” 

“ Chiefly, I think, because I wanted her to make repara- 
tion to Miss Colwyn.” 

“ Then, Philip, she is not worthy of you.” 

“ She has had a bad training,” he said, slowly. “ A fine 
nature ruined by indulgence and luxury. She has never 
been crossed in her life.” 

“ She will find out what it is to be crossed some day. 
My poor Phil ! I am very sorry.” 

“ We need not talk about it, mother, dear. You will be 
all in all to me now.” 

He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his, then 
kissed it with a mingling of tenderness and respect which 
brought the tears to Lady Ashley’s eyes. 

“ But I do not want to be all in all to you, you foolish 
boy,” she assured him. “ I want to see you with a wife, 
with children of your own, with family ties and interests 
and delights.” 

“ Not yet, mother,” he answered in a low tone. “Some 
day, perhaps.” 

And from the pained look in his dark eyes she saw that 
he suffered more than he would have liked to own for the 
loss of Margaret. She said no more, but her heart ached 
for her boy, and she was hardly able to comfort herself 


142 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


with the recollection that Time heals all wounds — even 
those that have been made by Love. 

Sir Philip had accepted Margaret’s refusal as final. He 
had no reason to hope that she would ever change her 
mind towards him. Perhaps if he had known how large a 
part of her thoughts he occupied, in spite of her declara- 
tion that she did not like him, he might have had some 
hope of a more favorable hearing in the future. But he 
had no conception of any under-current of feeling in Mar- 
garet Adair. She had always seemed to him so frank, with 
a sweet, maidenly frankness, so transparent — without shal- 
lowness, that he was thrown into despair when she dis- 
missed him. He was singularly ignorant of the nature of 
women, and more especially of young girls. His mother’s 
proud, upright, rather inflexible character, conjoined with 
great warmth of affection and rare nobility of mind, had 
given him a high standard by which to judge other women. 
He had never had a sister, and was not particularly obser- 
vant of young girls. It was therefore a greater disappoint- 
ment to him than it would have been to many men to find 
that Margaret could be a little bit obstinate, a little bit 
selfish, and not at all disposed to sacrifice herself for 
others. She lowered his whole conception of woman- 
kind. 

At least, so he said to himself, as he sat that evening 
after dinner over his library fire, and fell into a mood of 
somewhat sombre hue. What poets and philosophers had 
said of the changeful, capricious, shallow, and selfish nature 
of women was then true ? His mother was a grand excep- 
tion to the rule, ’twas true ; but there were no women like 
her now. These modern girls thought of nothing but 
luxury, comfort, self-indulgence. They had no high ideals, 
no thought of the seriousness of life. 

But even as he made his hot accusation against women 
of the present day, his heart smote him a little for his 
injustice. He certainly did know one girl who was emin- 
ently faithful and true ; who worked hard, and, as he had 
just found out, suffered greatly — a girl whose true nobility 
of mind and life was revealed to him as if by a lightning 
flash of intuition. 

What a helpmate Janetta Colwyn would be to any man ! 
Her bright intelligence, her gift of song, her piquante, 
transitory beauty, her honesty and faithfulness, made up 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


143 

an individuality of distinct attractiveness.^ And yet he was 
not very much attracted. He admired her, he respected 
her ; but his pulses did not quicken at the thought of her 
as they quickened when he thought of Margaret. Why 
should they indeed ? She was a country surgeon’s daugh- 
ter, of no particular family ; she had very undesirable con- 
nections, and she was very poor — there was nothing in 
Janetta’s outer circumstances to make her a fitting wife for 
him. And yet the attraction of character was very great. 
He wanted a wife who would be above all things able to 
help him in his work — work of reform and of philanthropy : 
a selfish, luxurious, indolent woman could be no mate for 
him. Janetta Colwyn was the woman ‘that he had been 
seeking since first he thought of marriage ; and yet — ah, 
there was nothing wrong with her except that she was not 
Margaret. But of Margaret he must think no more. 

Lady Ashley would have been very much astonished if 
she had known how far her idolized son had gone that night 
along the road of a resolution to ask Janetta Colwyn to be 
his wife. 


CHAPTER XIX. 
nora’s proceedings. 

Janetta scarcely expected to hear from Lady Ashley 
again, and was not surprised that days and weeks passed 
on in silence as regarded her engagement to sing at the 
evening party. She did not reflect that Christmas brought 
its own special duties and festivities, and that she was not 
likely to be wanted until these were over. In the mean- 
time, the holidays began, and she had to prepare as best 
she could, though with a heavy heart, for the home- 
coming of her brothers and sisters. There was very little 
to “keep Christmas” upon; and she could not but be 
grateful when her scanty store was enlarged by gifts from 
the Adairs, and also (to her great astonishment) from Sir 
Philip Ashley and from Wyvis Brand. 

“ Game, of course ! ” said Nora, whom she told of these 
windfalls on the first night of the sisters’ arrival from their 
school. “Well, I’m not sorry: we don’t often have 


M4 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


grouse and woodcock at the luxurious table of Miss Peacock 
& Co. ; but from three people at once ! it will surely be 
monotonous.’’ 

“ Don’t be ridiculous, Nora. Lady Caroline has sent 
me a turkey, and the Brands have presented us with fowls 
and a side of home-cured bacon — very acceptable too, I 
can tell you ! It is only Sir Philip who has sent game.” 

“ Ah, he is the fine gentleman of them all,” said Nora, 
whose spirits were high in spite of the depression that 
occasionally overcast the whole family when they remem- 
bered that this Christmas would be spent without their 
father’s loving presence in their home. “ The others 
are commonplace ! Idave they been here lately ? ” 

“ Wyvis Brand called when I was out, and did not come 
in. Mrs. Brand has been.” 

“ Not the other one — Cuthbert? ” said Nora, with great 
carelessness. 

“No. I think he has been in Paris.” 

“And haven’t you been there at all? ” 

“ I couldn’t go, Nora. I have been too busy. Besides 
— there is something that I must tell you — I wish I could 
put it off, but I want you to help me.” 

The two girls were in their bedroom, and in the dark- 
ness and stillness of the night Janetta put her arms round 
Nora’s neck and told her of her mother’s besetting weak- 
ness. She was surprised and almost alarmed at the effect 
upon her stepsister. Nora shuddered two or three times 
and drew several painful breaths ; but she did not cry, 
and Janetta had expected an agony cf tears. It was in a 
low, strained voice that the girl said at last — 

“You say you have tried to hide it. Even if you have 
succeeded, it is not a thing that can be hidden long. 
Everybody will soon know. And it will go on from bad to 
worse. And — oh, Janetta, she is not your own mother, 
but she is mine ! ” 

And then she burst at last into the fit of weeping for 
which Janetta had been waiting. But it was more piteous 
than violent, and she seemed to listen while Janetta tried 
to comfort her, and passively endured rather than returned 
the elder sister’s caresses. Finally the two girls fell asleep 
in each other’s arms. 

The effect upon Nora of this communication was very 
marked. She looked pale and miserable for the next few 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


MS 


days, and was irritable when her depression was remarked. 
For the children’s sakes, Janetta tried to make a few mild 
festivities possible : she had a tiny Christmas tree in the 
back dining-room, and a private entertainment of snap- 
dragon on Christmas Eve ; and on Christmas Day after- 
noon the younger on'es roasted chestnuts in the kitchen 
and listened to the tales that nobody could tell half so 
well as “dear old Janet.” But Mrs. Colwyn openly 
lamented the hard-heartedness thus displayed, and locked 
herself into her bedroom with (Janetta feared) some 
private stores of her own ; and Nora refused to join the 
subdued joviality in the kitchen, and spent the afternoon 
over a novel in the front sitting-room. From the state of 
her eyes and her handkerchief at tea-time, however, 
Janetta conjectured that she had been crying for the 
greater part of the time. 

It was useless to remonstrate with Mrs. Colwyn, but 
Janetta thought that something might be done with her 
daughter. When Nora’s depression of spirits had lasted 
for some days, Janetta spoke out. 

“ Nora,” she said, “ I told you of our trouble, because 
I thought that you would help me to bear it ; but you are 
making things worse instead of better.” 

“ W T hat do you mean ? ” asked Nora. 

“ It is no use fretting over what cannot be helped, dear. 
If we are careful we can do much to lessen the danger and 
the misery of it all. Mamma has been much better lately : 
there has been nothing — no outbreak — since Lady Ashley 
came. It is possible that things may be better. But we 
must keep home cheerful, dear Nora: it does nobody any 
good for you and me to look miserable.” 

“ But I feel so miserable,” said Nora, beginning to cry 
again. 

“And is that the only thing we have to think of?” 
demanded Janetta, with severity. 

“ She is not your mother,” murmured the girl. 

“ I know that, darling, but I have felt the trouble of it 
as much as I think you can do.” 

“ That is impossible ! ” said Nora, sitting up, and push- 
ing back the disheveled blonde curls from her flushed face 
— she had been lying on her bed when Janetta found her 
and remonstrated; “quite impossible. Because you are 
not of her blood, not of her kith and kin ; and for me — 

10 


146 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


for all of us — it is worse, because people can always 
point to us, and say, ‘ The taint is in their veins : their 
mother drank — they may drink, too, one day/ and we 
shall be always under a ban ! ” 

Janetta was struck by the fact that Nora looked at the 
matter entirely from her own point of view — that very little 
affection for her mother was mingled with the shame and 
the disgrace that she felt. Mrs. Colwyn had never gained 
her children’s respect; and when the days of babyhood 
were over she had not retained their love. Nora was 
hurt, indignant, ashamed ; but she shrank from her mother 
more than she pitied her. 

“ What do you mean by * under a ban ? * ” Janetta 
asked, after a little silence. 

Nora colored hotly. 

“ I mean,” she said, looking down and fingering her 
dress nervously ; “ I mean — -that — if any of us wanted to 
get married ” 

Janetta laughed a little. “ Hadn’t we better wait until 
the opportunity arises?” she said, half-satirically, half 
affectionately. 

“ Oh, you don’t know ! ” exclaimed Nora, giving her 
shoulders a little impatient twist. “ I may have had the 
opportunity already, for all you know ! ” 

Janetta’s tone changed instantly. “ Nora, dear, have 
you anything of that sort to tell me? Won’t you trust 
me?” 

“ Oh, there’s nothing to tell. It’s only — Cuthbert.” 

“ Cuthbert Brand ! Nora ! what do you know of him ? ” 

“Didn’t you know?” said Nora, demurely. “He 
teaches drawing at Mrs. Smith’s school.” 

“ Teaches— but, Nora, why does he teach?” 

“ He is an artist : I suppose he likes it.” 

“ How long has he been teaching there ? ” 

“Soon after I went first,” said Nora, casting down her 
eyes. There was a little smile upon her face, as though 
she were not at all displeased at the confession. But a 
cold chill crept into Janetta’s heart. 

“ Has it been a scheme — a plot, then ? Did you suggest 
to him that he should come — and pretend that he was a 
stranger.” 

“ Oh, Janetta, don’t look so solemn ! No, I did not 
suggest it. He met me one day when I was out with 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


*47 


Georgie shopping, and he walked with us for a little way 
and found out where we lived, and all about us. And then I 
heard from Mrs. Smith that she had arranged with him to 
teach drawing to the girls. She did not know who he was, 
except that he had all sorts of medals and certificates and 
things, and that he had exhibited in the Royal Academy.” 

“ And you did not say to her openly that he was a con- 
nection of yours ? ” 

“ He isn’t,” said Nora, petulantly. “ He is your con- 
nection, not mine. There was no use in saying anything, 
only Georgie used to giggle so dreadfully when he came 
near her that I was always afraid we should be found out.” 

“ You might at least have left Georgie out of your plot,” 
said Janetta, who was very deeply grieved at Nora’s 
revelations. “ I always thought that she was straight- 
forward.” 

“ You needn’t be so hard on us, Janetta,” murmured 
Nora. “ I’m sure we did not mean to be anything but 
straightforward.” 

“ It was not straightforward to conceal your acquain- 
tance with Mr. Cuthbert Brand from Mrs. Smith. Especi- 
ally,” said Janetta, looking steadily at her sister, “if you 
had any idea he came there to see you.” 

She seemed to wait for an answer, and Nora felt 
obliged to respond. 

“ He never said so. But, of course ” — with a little pout 
— “ Georgie and I knew quite well. He used to send me 
lovely flowers by post — he did not write to me, but I 
knew where they came from, for he would sometimes put 
his initials inside the lid; and he always looked at my 
drawings a great deal more than the others — and he — he 
looked at me too, Janetta, and you need not be so 
unbelieving.” 

There was such a curious little touch of Mrs. Colwyn’s 
irritability in Nora’s manner at that moment that Janetta 
stood and looked at her without replying, conscious only 
of a great sinking at the heart. Vain, affected, irre- 
sponsible, childish ! — were all these qualities to appear in 
Nora, as they had already appeared in her mother, to lead 
her to destruction ? Mr. Colwyn’s word of warning with 
respect to Nora flashed into her mind. She brought her- 
self to say at last, with dry lips — 

“ This must not go on.” - 


148 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


Nora was up in arms in a moment. “What must not 
go on ? There is nothing to stop. We have done noth- 
ing wrong ! ” 

“ Perhaps not,” said Janetta, slowly. “ Perhaps there 
is nothing worse than childish folly and deceit on your 
part, but I think that Mr. Cuthbert Brand is not acting in 
an honorable manner at all. Either you must put a stop 
to it, Nora, or I shall.” 

“ What can I do, I should like to know ? ” 

“ You had better tell Mrs. Smith,” said the elder sister, 
“ that Mr. Brand is a second-cousin of mine. That the 
connection was so distant that you had not thought of 
mentioning it until I pointed out to you that you ought to 
do so, and that you hope she will pardon you for what 
will certainly seem to her very underhand conduct.” 

Nora shrank a little. “ Oh, I can’t do that, Janetta : I 
really can’t. She would be so angry !” 

“ There is another way, then : you must tell Cuthbert 
Brand not to send you any more flowers, and ask him to 
give no more drawing lessons at that school.” 

“ Oh, Janetta, I can't. He has never said that he came 
to see me, and it would look as if I thought ” 

“ What you do think in your heart,” said Janetta. Then, 
thinking that she had been a little brutal, she added, more 
gently — “ But there is perhaps no need to decide to-day 
or to-morrow what we are to do. We can think over it 
and see if there is a better way. All that I am determined 
upon is that your doings must be fair and open.” 

“ And you won’t speak to anybody else about it, will 
you ? ” said Nora, rather relieved by this respite, and 
hoping to elude Janetta’s vigilance still. 

“ I shall promise nothing,” Janetta answered. “ I must 
think about it.” 

She turned to leave the room, but was arrested by a 
burst of sobbing and a piteous appeal. 

“You are very unkind, Janetta. I thought that you 
would have sympathized.” 

Janetta stood still and sighed. “ I don’t know what to 
say, Nora,” she said. 

“You are very cold — very hard. You do not care one 
bit what I feci.” 

Perhaps, thought Janetta, the reproach had some truth 
in it. At any rate she went quietly out of the room and 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


149 


dosed the door, leaving Nora to cry as long and as heart- 
ily as she pleased. 

The elder sister went straight to Georgie. That young 
person, frank and boisterous by nature, was not given to 
deceit, and, although she was reluctant at first to betray 
Nora’s confidence, she soon acknowledged that it was a 
relief to her to speak the truth and the whole truth to 
Janetta. Her account tallied in the main with the one 
given by Nora. There did not seem to have been more 
than a little concealment, a little flirting, a little folly ; but 
Janetta was aghast to think of the extent to which Nora 
might have been compromised, and indignant at Cuthbert 
Brand’s culpable thoughtlessness — if it was nothing worse. 

“What people have said of the Brands is true,” she de- 
clared vehemently to herself. “ They work mischief wher- 
ever they go ; they have no goodness, no pity, no feeling 
of right and wrong. I thought that Cuthbert looked good, 
but he is no better than the others, and there is nothing to 
be hoped from any of them. And father told me to take 
care of his children — and I promised. .What can I do ? 
His * faithful Janetta’ cannot leave them to take their own 
way — to go to ruin if they please ! Oh, my poor Nora ! 
You did not mean any harm, and perhaps I was hard on 
you ! ” 

She relieved herself by a few quiet but bitter tears ; and 
then she was forced to leave the consideration of the mat- 
ter for the present, as there were many household duties 
to attend to which nobody could manage but herself. 

When she was again able to consider the matter, how- 
ever, she began to make up her mind that she must act 
boldly and promptly if she meant to act at all. Nora had 
no father, and practically no mother : Janetta must be 
both at once, if she would fulfil her ideal of duty. And by 
degrees a plan of action formed itself in her mind. She 
would go to the Brands’ house, and ask for Cuthbert him- 
self. Certainly she had heard that he was in Paris, but 
surely he would have returned by this time — for New 
Year’s Day if not for Christmas Day ! She would see him 
and ask him to forbear — ask him not to send flowers to 
her little sister, who was too young for such attentions — 
to herself Janetta added, “and too silly.” He could be 
only amusing himself— and he should not amuse himself at 
Nora’s expense. He had a nice face, too, she could not 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


150 

help reflecting , he did not look like a man who would do 
a wanton injury to a fatherless girl. Perhaps, after all, 
there was some mistake. 

And if she could not see him, she would see Mrs. Brand. 
The mother would, no doubt, help her : she had been 
always kind. Of Wyvis Brand she scarcely thought. She 
hoped that she might not see him — she had never spoken 
to him, she remembered, since the day when he had asked 
her to be his friend. 


CHAPTER XX. 

AN ELDER BROTHER. 

She did not say a word to Nora about her scheme. The 
next day — it was the third of January, as she afterwards 
remembered — was bright and clear, a good day for walk- 
ing. She told her sisters that she had business abroad, 
and gave them the directions respecting the care of their 
house and their mother that she thought they needed ; 
then set forth to walk briskly from Gwynne Street to the 
old Red House. 

She purposely chose the morning for her expedition. 
She was not making a call — she was going on business. 
She did not mean to ask for Mrs. Brand even, first of all ; 
she intended to ask for Mr. Cuthbert Brand. Wyvis 
would probably be out ; but Cuthbert, with his sedentary 
habits and his slight lameness, was more likely to be at 
home painting in the brilliant morning light than out of 
doors. 

It was nearly twelve o’clock when she reached her des- 
tination. She went through the leafless woods, for that 
was the shortest way and the pleasantest — although she had 
thought little of pleasantness when she came out, but still 
it was good to hear the brittle twigs snap under her feet, 
and note the slight coating of frost that made the rims of 
the dead leaves beautiful — and it was hardly a surprise to 
her to hear a child’s laugh ring out on the air at the very 
spot where, months before, she and Nora had found little 
Julian Brand. A moment later the boy himself came leap- 
ing down the narrow woodland path towards her with a 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


151 

noisy greeting ; and then — to Janetta’s vexation and dis- 
may — instead of nurse or grandmother, there emerged from 
among the trees the figure of the child’s father, Wyvis 
Brand. He had a healthier and more cheerful look than 
when she saw him last : he was in shooting coat and 
knickerbockers, and he had a gun in his hand and a couple 
of dogs at his heels. He lifted his hat and smiled, as if 
suddenly pleased when he saw her, but his face grew grave 
as he held out his hand. Both thought instinctively of 
their last meeting at her father’s grave, and both hastened 
into commonplace speech in order to forget it. 

“ I am glad to see you again. I hope you are coming 
to our place,” he said. And she — 

“ I hope Mrs. Brand is well. Is she at home ? ” 

“ No, she’s not,” said little Julian, with the frank fear- 
lessness of childhood. “ She’s gone out for the whole day 
with Uncle Cuthbert, and father and I are left all by our- 
selves ; and father has let me come out with him ; haven’t 
you, father ? ” He looked proudly at his father, and then 
at Janetta, while he spoke. 

“ So it appears,” said Wyvis, with a queer little smile. 

“ Grandmother said I was to take care of father, so I’m 
doing it,” Julian announced. “ Father’thinks I’m a brave 
boy now — not a milksop. He said I was a milksop, you 
know, the last time you came here.” 

“ Come, young man, don’t you chatter so much,” said 
his father, with a sort of rough affectionateness, which 
struck Janetta as something new. “ You run on with the 
dogs, and tell the servants to get some wine or milk or 
something ready for Miss Cohvyn. I’m sure you are tired,” 
he said to her, in a lower tone, with a searching glance at 
her pale face. 

It was hardly fatigue so much as disappointment that 
made Janetta pale. She had not expected to find both 
Mrs. Brand and Cuthbert out, and the failure of her plan 
daunted her a little, for she did not often find it an easy 
thing to absent herself from home for several hours. 

“ I am not tired,” said Janetta, unsteadily, “ but I 
thought I should find them in — Mrs. Brand, I mean ” 

“ Did you want to see them — my mother, I mean — 
particularly ? ” asked Wyvis, either by accident or inten- 
tion seeming to parody her words. 

“ I have not seen her for a long time.” Janetta evaded 


* 5 * 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


giving a direct answer. “I thought that I should h.^ve 
had a little talk with her. If she is out, I think that I 
had better turn back.” 

“You had better rest fora little while,” he said. “It 
is a long walk, and in spite of what you may say, you do 
look tired. If you have business with my mother, perhaps 
I may do as well. She generally leaves all her business 
to me.” 

“ No,” said Janetta, with considerable embarrassmep 
of manner. “ It is nothing — I can come another time.” 

He looked at her for a moment as if she puzzled him. 

“ You have been teaching music in Beaminster, } 
believe ? ” 

“ Yes — and other things.” 

“ May I ask what other things ? ” 

Janetta smiled. “ I have a little sister, Tiny,” she said, 
“and I teach her everything she learns. Reading, 
writing, and arithmetic, you know. And a neighbor’s little 
boy comes in and learns with her.” 

“ I have been wondering,’ 4 said Wyvis, “ whether you 
would care to do anything with that boy of mine.” 

“That dear little Julian? Oh, I should be glad,” said 
Janetta, more freely than she had yet spoken. “ He is 
such a sweet little fellow.” 

“ He has a spirit of his own, as you know,” said the 
father, with rather an unwilling smile. “ He is not a bad 
little chap ; but he has lately attached himself a good deal 
to me, and I have to go into the stables and about the 
land a good deal, and I don’t think it’s altogether good for 
him. I found him ” — apologetically — “ using some very 
bad language the other day. Oh, you needn’t be afraid ; 
he won’t do it again ; I think I thrashed it out of him — ” 

“ Oh, that’s worse ! ” said Janetta, reproachfully. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

44 To strike a little fellow like that, when he did not know 
that what he was saying was wrong! And why did you 
take him where he would hear language of that kind ? 
Wasn’t it more your fault than his ? ” 

Wyvis bent his head and shrugged his shoulders. 44 If 
the truth were known, I dare say he heard me use it,” he 
said dryly. 44 I’m not mealy-mouthed myself. However, 
I’ve taught him that he must not do it.” 

“ Have you, indeed ? And don’t you think that example 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


*53 


will ^ rove stronger than precept, or even than thrashing ? ” 
saicx Janetta. “ If you want to teach him not to use bad 
words, you had better not use them yourself, Mr. Brand.” 

“Mr. Brand?” said Wyvis ; “I thought it was to be 
Cousin Wyvis. But I’ve disgusted you ; no wonder. I 
told you long ago that I did not know how to bring up a 
child. I asked you to help us — and you have not been 
near the place for months.” 

“ How could I help you, if you mean to train him by 
oaths and blows? ” asked Janetta. 

“ That’s plain speaking, at any rate,” he said. “ Well, 
I don’t mind ; in fact, I might say that I like you the 
better for it, if you’ll allow me to go so far. I don’t know 
whether you’re right or not. Of course it won’t do for him 
to talk as I do while he’s a baby, but later on it won’t 
signify ; and a thrashing never did a boy any harm.” 

“ Do you mean that you are in the habit of swearing ? ” 
said Janetta, with a direct simplicity, which made Wyvis 
smile and wince at the same time. 

“ No, I don’t,” he said. “ I always disliked the habit, 
and I was determined that Julian shouldn’t contract it. 
But I’ve lived in a set that was not over particular ; and I 
suppose I fell into their ways now and then.” 

“ Apart from the moral point of view, no gentleman ever 
does it!” said Janetta, hotly. 

“ Perhaps not. Perhaps I’m not a gentleman. My 
relations, the publicans of Roxby, certainly were not. The 
bad strain in us will out. you see.” 

“ Oh, Cousin Wyvis, I did not mean that,” said Janetta, 
now genuinely distressed. “ It is only that — I do wish 
you would not talk in that way — use those words, I mean. 
Julian is sure to catch them up, and you see yourself that 
that would be a pity.” 

“ I am to govern my tongue then for Julian’s sake ? ” 

“ Yes, and for your own.” 

“ Do you care whether I govern it or not, Janetta? ” 

How oddly soft and tender his voice had grown ! 

“ Yes, I do care,” she answered, not very willingly, but 
compelled to truthfulness by her own conscience and his 
constraining gaze. 

“ Then I swear I will,” he exclaimed, impetuously. 
“ It is something to find a woman caring whether one is 
good or bad, and I won’t prove myself utterly unworthy of 
your care.” 


T 54 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ There is your mother : she cares.” 

“ Oh, yes, she cares, poor soul, but she cries over my 
sins instead of fighting them. Fighting is not her vietier , 
you know. Now, you — you fight well.” 

“ That is a compliment, I suppose ? ” said Janetta, 
laughing a little and coloring — not with displeasure — at his 
tone. 

“ Yes,” he said ; “ I like the fighting spirit.” 

They had been walking slowly along the path, and now 
they had reached the gate that opened into the grounds. 
Here, as he opened it, Janetta hesitated, and then stopped 
short. 

“ I think I had better make the best of my way back,” 
she said. “ It is getting late.” 

“ Not much after twelve. Are we not friends again?” 

“ Oh yes.” 

“And will you think over what I said about my boy?” 

“ Do you really mean it ? ” 

“ Most decidedly. You couldn’t come here, I suppose 
— you wouldn’t leave home ? ” 

“ No, I could not do that. How would he get to me 
every day ? ” 

“ I would bring him myself, or send him in the dog-cart. 
I or my brother would look after that.” Then, seeing a 
sudden look of protest in Janetta’s face, he added quickly 
— “You don’t like that?” 

“ It is nothing,” said Janetta, looking down. 

“ Is it to me or to my brother that you object ? ” 

He smiled as he spoke, but, a little to his surprise, 
Janetta kept silence, and did not smile. Wyvis Brand 
was a man of very quick perceptions, and he saw at once 
that if she seemed troubled she had a reason for it. 

“ Has Cuthbert offended you ? ” he asked. 

“ I have only spoken to him once — four months ago.” 

“ That is no answer. What has he been about? I have 
some idea, you know,” said Wyvis, coolly, “ because I 
came across some sketches of his which betrayed where 
his thoughts were straying. Your pretty sister quite capti- 
vated him, I believe. Has he been getting up a flirtation ? ” 

“ I suppose it is a joke to him and to you,” said Janetta, 
almost passionately, “but it is no joke to us. Yes, 1 
came to speak to him or to your mother about it. Either 
she must leave the school where she is teaching, or he 
must let her alone.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


I5S 


“ You had better not speak to my mother ; it will only 
worry her. Come in, and tell me about it,” said Wyvis, 
opening the gate, and laying his hand gently on her arm. 

She did not resent his tone of mastery. In spite of the 
many faults and errors that she discerned in him, it always 
seemed to her that a warmer and finer nature lay below 
the outside trappings of roughness and coldness than was 
generally perceptible. And when this better nature came 
to the front, it brought with it a remembrance of the tie of 
kinship, and Janetta’s heart softened to him at once. 

He took her into a room which she guessed to be his 
own private sanctum — a thoroughly untidy place, littered 
with books, papers, tools, weapons, gardening implements, 
pipes and tobacco jars, in fine confusion. He had to clear 
away a pile of books from a chair before she could sit 
down. Then he planted himself on a corner of the solid, 
square oak table in the middle of the room, and prepared 
to listen to her story. Julian, who interrupted them 
once, was ordered out of the room again in such a 
peremptory tone that Janetta was somewhat startled. But 
really the boy did not seem to mind. 

By dint of leading questions he drew from her an outline 
of the facts of the case, but she softened them, for Nora’s 
sake, as much as possible. She looked at him anxiously 
when she had done, to see whether he was angry. 

“ You know,” she said, “ I don’t want to sow dissension 
of any kind between you.” 

Wyvis smiled. “ I know you don’t. But I assure you 
Cuthbert and I never quarreled in our lives. That is not 
one of the sins you can lay to my charge. He is a whim- 
sical fellow, and I suspect that this has been one of his 
freaks — not meaning to hurt anybody. If you leave him 
to me, I’ll stop the drawing-lessons at any rate, and 
probably the flowers.” 

“ Don’t let him think that Nora cares,” she said. “ She 
is quite a child — if he had sent her bonbons she would 
have liked them even better than flowers.” 

“ I understand. I will do my best — as you are so good 
as to trust me,” he answered, lowering his voice. 

A little silence fell between them. Something in the 
tone had made Janetta’s heart beat fast. Then there rose 
up before her — she hardly knew why— the vision of a 
woman, an imaginary woman, one whom she had never 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


156 

seen — the woman with Julian’s eyes, the woman who called 
herself the wife of Wyvis Brand. The thought had power 
to bring her to her feet. 

“ And now I must really go.” 

“ Not yet,” he said, smiling down at her with a very 
kindly look in his stern dark eyes. “ Do you know you 
have given me a great deal of pleasure to-day ? You have 
trusted me to do a commission for you — a delicate bit of work 
too — and that shows that you don’t consider me altogether 
worthless.” 

“ You may be sure that I do not.” 

“ Yes, we are friends. I have some satisfaction in that 
thought. Do you know that you are the first woman who 
has ever made a friend of me ? who has ever trusted me, 
and taught me — for a moment or two — to respect myself? 
It is the newest sensation I have had for years.” 

“Not the sensation of respecting yourself, I hope?” 

“ Yes, indeed. You don’t know — you will never know — 
how I’ve been handicapped in life. Can you manage to be 
friendly with me even when I don’t do exactly as you 
approve? You are at liberty to tell me with cousinly 
frankness what you dislike.” 

“ On that condition we can be friends,” said Janetta, 
smiling and tendering her hand. She meant to say good- 
bye, but he retained the little hand in his own and went on 
talking. 

“ How about the boy ? You’ll take him for a few hours 
every day ? ” 

“You really mean it?” 

“ I do, indeed. Name your own terms.” 

She blushed a little, but was resolved to be business-like. 

“ You know I can’t afford to do it for nothing,” she said. 

“ He can come from ten to one, if you like to give me ” 

and then she mentioned a sum which Wyvis thought miser- 
ably inadequate. 

“ Absurd ! ” he cried. “ Double that, and then take 
him ! When can he come ? ” 

“ Next week, if you like. But I mean what I say ” 

“ So do I, and as my will is stronger than yours I shall 
have my own way.” 

Janetta shook her head, and, having by this time got her 
hand free, she managed to say good-bye, and left the house 
much more cheerfully than she had entered it. Strange to 


A I RUE FRIEND. 


157 


say, she had a curious feeling of trust in Wyvis Brand’s 
promise to help her ; it seemed to her that he was a man 
who would endeavor at all costs to keep his word. 


CHAPTER XXI. 
cuthbert’s romance. 

Janetta was hardly surprised when, two days later, she 
was asked to give a private audience to Mr. Cuthbert 
Brand. She had not yet told Nora of the course that she 
had pursued, for she was indeed rather unnecessarily 
ashamed of it. “ It was just like a worldly mamma asking 
a young man his intentions about her daughter,” she said to 
herself, with a whimsical smile. “ Probably nothing will 
come of it but a cessation of these silly little attentions to 
Nora.” But she felt a little shy and constrained when she 
entered the drawing-room, and, while shaking hands with 
her cousin, she did not lift her eyes to his face. 

When she had taken a seat, however, and managed to 
steal a glance at him, she was half-provoked, half-reassured. 
Cuthbert’s mobile face was full of a merry, twinkling 
humor, and expressed no penitence at all. She was so 
much astonished that she forgot her shyness, and looked 
at him inquiringly without opening her lips. 

Cuthbert laughed — an irrepressible little laugh, as if he 
could not help it. “ Look here, Cousin Janetta,” he said, 
“ I’m awfully sorry, but I really can’t help it. The idea of 
you as a duenna and of Wyvis as a heavy father has been 
tickling me ever since yesterday, and I shall have to have 
it out sooner or later. I assure you it’s only a nervous 
affection. If I didn’t laugh, I might cry or faint, and that 
would be worse, you know.” 

“ I don’t quite see the joke,” said Janetta, gravely. 

“ The joke,” said Cuthbert, “ lies in the contrast 
between yourself and the role you have taken upon you.” 

“ It is a role that I am obliged to take upon me,” 
interposed Janetta ; “ because my sisters have no father, 
and a mother whose health makes it impossible for her to 
guard them as she would like to do.” 

“ Now you’re going to be severe,” said Cuthbert ; “ and 


i 5 8 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


indeed I am guiltless of anything but a little harmless 
fooling. I can but tender my humblest apologies, and 
assure you that I have resigned my post in Mrs. Smith’s 
educational establishment, and that I will keep my flowers 
in future to myself, unless I may send them with your 
consent and that of my authoritative elder brother.” 

Janetta was not mollified. “ It is easy for you to talk of 
it so lightly,” she said, “but you forget that you might 
have involved both my sisters in serious trouble.” 

“ Don’t you think I should have been able to get them 
out again ?” said Cuthbert, with all the lightness to which 
she objected. “ Don’t you think that I could have paci- 
fied the school-mistress ? There is one thing that I must 
explain. My fancy for teaching was a fad, undertaken for 
its own sake, which led me accidentally at first to Mrs. 
Smith’s school. I did not know that your sisters were 
there until I had made my preliminary arrangements.” 

Janetta flushed deeply, and did not reply. Nora’s 
imagination had been more active than she expected. 
Cuthbert, who was watching her, saw the flush and the 
look of surprise, and easily guessed what had passed 
between the sisters. 

“ Did you ever read Sheridan’s ‘ Rivals ? ’ ” he asked, 
quietly. “ Don’t you remember the romantic heroine who 
insisted on her romance ? She would hardly consent to 
marry a man unless he had a history, and would help her 
to make one for herself? ” 

“ I don’t think that Nora is at all like Lydia Languish.” 

“ Possibly not, in essentials. But she loves romance and 
mystery and excitement, as Lydia Languish did. It is a 
very harmless romance that consists in sending a few cut 
flowers by Parcel Post, Cousin Janetta.” 

“ I know — it sounds very little,” Janetta said, “ but it 
may do harm for all that.” 

“ Has it done harm to your sister, then ? ” Cuthbert 
inquired, with apparent innocence, but with the slight 
twinkle of his eye, which told of inward mirth. Janetta 
was again growing indignant, and was about to answer 
rather sharply, when he once more changed his tone. 
“ There,” he said, “ I have teased you quite enough, 
haven’t I ? I have been presuming on our relationship to 
be as provoking as I could, because — honestly — I thought 
that you might have trusted me a little more. Now, shall 
I be serious ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


159 


“ If you can,” said Janetta. 

“ That’s awfully severe. By nature, I must tell you, I 
am the most serious, not to say melancholy, person in 
creation. But on a fine day my spirits run away with me. 
Now, Janetta — I may call you Janetta, may not I ? — I am 
going to be serious, deadly serious, as serious as if it were 
a wet day in town. And the communication that I wish 
to make to you as the head of the family, which you seem 
to be, is that I am head over ears in love with your sister 
Nora, and that I beg for the honor of her hand.” 

“ You are joking,” said his hearer, reproachfully. 

“ Never was joking further from my thoughts. Getting 
married is an exceedingly solemn business, I believe. I 
want to marry Nora and take her to Paris.” 

“ Oh, this is ridiculous : you can’t mean it,” said Janetta. 

“ Why ridiculous ? Did I not tell you that I admired 
Miss Lydia Languish ? Her desire for a romance was 
quite praiseworthy : it is what every woman cherishes in 
her heart of hearts : only Nora, being more naive and frank 
and child-like than most women, let me see the desire 
more clearly than women mostly do. That’s why I love 
her. She is natural and lovable and lovely. Don’t tell me 
that I can’t win her heart. I know I may have touched 
her fancy, but that is not enough. Let me have the chance, 
and I think that I can go deeper still.” 

“You said that you would be serious, but you don’t 
know how serious this is to me,” said Janetta, the tears 
rising to her eyes. “ My father told me to take care of 
her r she is very young — and not very wise ; and how am 
I to know whether you mean what you say ? ” 

“ I do mean it, indeed ! ” said Cuthbert, in a much 
graver tone. “ I have got into the habit of talking as if I 
felt very little — a ridiculous habit, I acknowledge — but, in 
this matter, I mean it from the bottom of my heart.” 

“ I suppose, then,” said Janetta, tremulously, “ that you 
must speak to mamma — and to Nora. I am not at all the 
head of the house, although you are pleased — in fun — to 
call me so. I am only Nora’s half-sister, fond of her and 
anxious about her, and ready to do all that I can do for 
her good.” 

Cuthbert looked at her intently. Her face was pale, and 
the black dress that she wore was not altogether becoming 
to her dark eyes and complexion, but there was something 


i6o 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


pathetic to him in the weight of care which seemed to sit 
upon those young brows and bear down the slender 
shoulders of the girl. The new sensation thus given 
caused him to say, with sudden earnestness — 

“ Will you forgive me for having spoken and acted so 
thoughtlessly? I never meant to cause you so much 
anxiety. You see, I am not very well acquainted with 
English ways, and I may have made more mistakes than I 
knew. When Nora is my wife you shall not have to fear 
for her happiness.” 

“ You speak very confidently of making her your wife,” 
said Janetta, forgiving him in her heart, nevertheless. 
“ But you have no house — no profession, have you ? ” 
“No income, you mean ? ” said Cuthbert, with his merry 
smile. “ Oh, yes, I have a profession. It does not pay me 
quite so well as it might do, but I think I shall do better 
by-and-bye. Then I have a couple of hundreds a year of 
my own. Is it too much of a pittance to begin upon ? ” 

“ Nora is quite too young to begin upon anything. If 
only you would leave her alone for a year or two ! — till she 
is a little more staid and sensible ! ” 

“But that’s too late, don’t you see? That’s where my 
apologies have to come in. I have disturbed the peace 
already, haven’t I?” 

“ Mr. Brand,” said Janetta, gravely, in spite of an excla- 
mation of protest from her cousin, “ I don’t think that we 
are going quite deeply enough into the matter. There 
are one or two things that I must say : there is no one else 
to say them. Nora is young and foolish, but she is affec- 
tionate and sensitive, and if she once cares for you, you 
may make the happiness or the misery of her life. Our 
dear father told me to take care of her. And I am not 
sure that he would have sanctioned her engagement to 
you.” 

“ I’d better send Wyvis to talk to you,” said Cuthbert, 
starting up and nearly upsetting a chair in his eagerness. 
“ I knew he could manage and — and explain things better 
than I could. He’s well up in the family affairs. Will 
you see him now ? ” 

“ Now ? ” 

“ He’s outside waiting. He wouldn’t come in. I’ll go 
and send him to you. No, don’t object : there are ever so 
many things that you two elders had better talk over 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


ft 


together. I must say,” said Cuthbert, beginning to laugh 
again in his light-hearted way, “ that, when I think of 
Wyvis as a family man, bent on seeing his younger brother 
se ranger, and you as Nora’s stern guardian, I am seized 
with an access of uncontrollable mirth.” 

He caught up his hat and left the room so quickly that 
Janetta, taken by surprise, could not stop him. She tried 
to follow, but she was too late : he had rushed off, leaving 
the hall-door open, and a draught of cold air was ascending 
the stairs and causing her stepmother peevishly to remark 
that Janetta’s visitors were really intolerable. “ Who was 
it, this time?” she asked of her second daughter Georgie, 
who was standing at the window — the mother and her girls 
being assembled in Mrs. Colwyn’s bedroom, her favorite 
resort on cold afternoons. 

Georgie gave a little giggle — her manners were not per- 
fect, in spite of a term at Mrs. Smith’s superior seminary 
for young ladies — and answered, under her breath — 

“ It was Mr. Cuthbert Brand.” 

Nora’s book fell from her knee. When she picked it up 
her cheeks were crimson and her eyes were flashing fire. 

“ Don’t be absurd, Georgie. It was not.” 

“ Indeed it was, Nora. I suppose he came to see 
Janetta, and Janetta has sent him away. Oh, how he’s 
running, although he is a little lame ! He has caught 
some one — his brother, I believe it is ; and now the 
brother’s walking back with him.” 

“ I shall go down,” said Mrs. Colwyn, with dignity. 
“ It is not at all proper for a young person like Janetta to 
receive gentlemen alone. I shall go and sit in the drawing- 
room myself.” 

“ Then Janetta will take her visitors into the dining- 
room,” said Nora, abruptly. “She has only business with 
these people, mamma : they don’t come to visit us because 
they like us — it is only when they want us to do something 
for them ; so I would not put myself out for them if I were 
you. And as for Janetta’s being young, she is the oldest 
person amongst us.” And then Nora turned to her book, 
which she held upside down without being at all aware of 
it. 

“ I do not know what you mean, Nora,” was Mrs. Col- 
wyn’s fretful response ; “ and if the other brother is coming 


IDS 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


here, I shall certainly not disturb myself, for I believe him 
to be a wild, dissipated, immoral, young man.” 

“ Just the sort of man for Janet to receive alone,” mur- 
mured Georgie, maliciously. Georgie was the member of 
the family who “ had a tongue.” 

Meanwhile Wyvis had come into the house, though 
without Cuthbert, who had thought it better to disappear 
into the gathering darkness ; and Janetta received him in 
the hall. 

He laughed a little as he took her hand. “ Cuthbert is 
a little impatient, is he not ? Well, he has persuaded me 
into talking this matter over with you. I’m to come in 
here, am I ? ” as Janetta silently opened the sitting-room 
door for him. “ This looks pleasant,” he added after a 
moment’s pause. 

In the gathering evening gloom the shabbiness of the 
furniture could not be seen, and the fire-light danced play- 
fully over the worn, comfortable-looking chairs drawn up 
to the hearth, on the holly and mistletoe which decorated 
the walls, and the great cluster of geranium and Christmas 
roses which the Adairs had sent to Janetta the day before. 
Everything looked homelike and comfortable, and perhaps 
it was no wonder that Wyvis — accustomed to the gloom of 
his own home, or the garish splendor of a Paris hotel — 
felt that he was entering a new sphere, or undergoing 
some new experience. 

“ Don’t light the lamp,” he said, in his imperious way ; 
“let us talk in this half-light, if you don’t mind? it’s pleas- 
anter.” 

“And easier,” said Janetta, softly. 

1 Easier? Does it need an effort ? ” 

“ I am afraid I have something unpleasant to say.” 

“ So have I. We are quits, then. You can begin.” 

“ Your brother has been asking if he maybe engaged to 
Nora ” 

“ If he may marry her out of hand, vou mean. That’s 
what he wants to do.” 

“ We know very little of him,” said Janetta, rather un- 
steadily, “ or of you. Things have been said against you 
in Beaminster — you have yourself told me things that I did 
not like — indeed, my father almost warned me against 
you ” 

A murmur from Wyvis Brand sounded uncommonly like 
“ the devil he did 1 ” — but Janetta did not stop to listen. 


. A TRUE FRIEND . 


163 


“ I never heard anything but vague generalities against 
him , but then I never heard anything particularly good. I 
don’t like the way in which he has pursued his acquaint- 
ance with Nora. I have no authority with her — not much 
influence with her mother — and, therefore, I throw myself 
on you for help,” said Janetta, her musical voice taking a 
pathetically earnest cadence ; “and I ask you to beg your 
brother to wait — to let Nora grow older and know her own 
mind a little better — to give us the chance of knowing him 
before he asks to take her away.” 

“ You have not said either of the things that I was ex- 
pecting to hear,” said Wyvis. 

“ What were those ? ” 

“ How much money he had a year ! ” 

“ Oh, he told me about that.” 

“ Or — an allusion to his forbears : his father’s character 
and his mother’s relations — the two bugbears of Beamin- 
ster.” 

“ I think nothing of those, if Cuthbert himself is good.” 

“ Well, he is good. He is as different from me as light 
is from darkness. He is a little thoughtless and unprac- 
tical sometimes, but he is sweet-tempered, honest, true, 
clean-living, and God-fearing. Will that suit you ? ” 

“ If he is all that ” 

“ He is that and more. We are not effusive, Cuthbert 
and I, but I think him one of the best fellows in the world. 
She’ll be lucky who gets him, in my opinion.” 

“ All the more reason, then, why I must say a still more 
unpleasant thing than ever,” she replied. “ Nora is in 
great trouble, because she has been told what I have 
known for some time. Her mother does not always con- 
trol herself; you know what I mean? She must not 
marry without telling this — we cannot deceive the man 
who is to be her husband — he must know the possible dis- 
grace.” 

“If every woman were as straightforward and honor- 
able as you, Janetta, there would be fewer miserable mar- 
riages,” said Wyvis, slowly. “ You are, no doubt, right to 
speak ; but, on the other hand, our family record is much 
worse than yours. If one of you can condescend to take 
one of us, I think we shall have the advantage.” 

Janetta drew a long breath. 

“ Then, will you help me in what I ask ? ” 


164 


A TRUE FRJEND . 


“ Yes, I will. I’ll speak to Cuthbert and point out how 
reasonable you are. Then — you’ll let him cultivate your 
sister’s acquaintance, I suppose ? In spite of your dis- 
claimers, I believe you are supreme in the house. I wish 
there were more like you to be supreme, Janetta. I wish 
— to God I wish — that I had met you — a woman like you — 
eight years ago.” 

And before she could realize the meaning of what he 
had said to her, the man was gone. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

wyvis brand’s ideal. 

Everything was satisfactorily settled. Cuthbert was put 
on his probation ; Nora was instructed in the prospect 
that lay before her, and was allowed to correspond with 
her “ semi-betrothed,” as he insisted on calling himself. 
Mrs. Colwyn was radiant with reflected glory, for although 
she despised and hated Mrs. Brand, she was not blind to 
the advantages that would accrue to herself through con- 
nection with a County family. She was not, however, as 
fully informed in the details of the little love-affair as she 
imagined herself to be. Janetta’s share in bringing about 
a de?iouement and retarding its further development was 
quite unknown to her. The delay, which some of Mr. 
Colwyn’s old friends urged with great vigor, was ascribed 
by her chiefly to the hostile influences of Wyvis Brand, 
and she made a point of being openly uncivil to that 
gentleman when, on fine mornings, he brought his boy to 
Gwynne Street or fetched him away on a bright afternoon. 
For it had been decided that little Julian should not only 
come every day at ten, but on two days of the week should 
stay until four o’clock in the afternoon, in order to enjoy 
the advantages of Tiny’s society. He had been living so 
unchildlike a life of late that Janetta begged to keep him for 
play as well as for lessons with other children. 

Nora went back to her school somewhat sobered by the 
unexpected turn of events, and rather ashamed of het 
assumption (dispelled by Janetta) that Cuthbert Brand had 
given drawing ’essons at Mrs. Smith’s in order to be near 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


165 

her. Mr. Cuthbert Brand discontinued these lessons, but 
opened a class in Beaminster at the half-deserted Art 
School, and made himself popular wherever he went. Ja- 
netta was half inclined to doubt the genuineness of his 
affection for Nora when she heard of his innocent, but 
quite enthusiastic, flirtations with other girls. But he 
always solemnly assured her that Nora had his heart, and 
Nora only; and as long as he made Nora happy Janetta 
was content. And so the weeks passed on. She had 
more to do now that Julian came every day, but she got 
no new music pupils, and she heard nothing about the 
evening parties at Lady Ashley’s. She concluded that Sir 
Philip and his mother had forgotten her, but such was not 
the case. There had been a death in the family, and the 
consequent period of mourning had prevented Lady Ashley 
from giving any parties — that was all. 

For some little time, therefore, Janetta’s life seemed 
likely to flow on in a very peaceful way. Mrs. Colwyn 
“ broke out ” only once between Christmas and Easter, 
and was more penitent and depressed after her outbreak 
than Janetta had ever seen her. Matters went on more 
quietly than ever after this event. Easter came, and 
brought Nora and Georgiehome again, and then there was 
a period of comparative excitement and jollity, for the 
Brands began to come with much regularity to the little 
house in Gwynne Street, and there were merry-makings 
almost every day. 

But when the accustomed routine began again, Janetta, 
in her conscientious way, took herself seriously to task. 
She had not been governing herself, her thoughts, her 
time, her temper, as she conceived that it was right for 
her to do. On reflection, it seemed to her that one person 
lately filled up the whole of her mental horizon. And 
this person she was genuinely shocked to find was Wyvis 
Brand. 

Why should she concern herself so much about him ? 
He was married ; he had a child ; his mother and brother 
lived with him, and supplied his need of society. He 
went out into the world about Beaminster more than he 
used to do, and might have been fairly popular if he had 
exerted himself, but this he would never do. There were 
fewer reports current about his bad companions, or his 
unsteady way of life ; and Janetta gathered from various 


1 66 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


sources that he had entirely abandoned that profane and 
reckless method of speech for which she had rebuked him. 
He was improving, certainly. Well, was that any reason 
why she should think about him so much, or consider his 
character and his probable fate so earnestly ? She saw 
no reason in it, she told herself ; and perhaps she was 
right. 

There was another reason even more potent for making 
her think of him. He had had an unsatisfactory, troublous 
sort of life ; he had been unfortunate in his domestic rela- 
tions, and he was most decidedly an unhappy man. Many 
a woman before Janetta has found reasons of this kind 
suffice for love of a man. Certainly, in Janetta’s case, 
they formed the basis of a good deal of interest. She told 
herself that she could not help thinking of him. He came 
very often, on pretext of bringing or of fetching Julian — 
especially on the days when Julian stayed until four 
o’clock, for then he would stray in and sit down to chat 
with Janetta and her mother until it was sheer incivility 
not to offer him a cup of tea. Softened by the pleasures 
of hospitality, Mrs. Colwyn would be quite gracious to 
him at these times. But now and then she left him to be. 
entertained by Janetta, saying rather sharply that she did 
not care to meet the man who chose to behave “ so brutally 
to her darling Nora.” 

So that Janetta got into the way of sitting with him, 
talking with him on all subjects, of giving him her sage 
advice when he asked for it, and listening with interest to 
the stories that he told her of his past life. It was natural 
that she should think about him a good deal, and about 
his efforts to straighten the tangled coil of his life, and to 
make himself a worthier father for his little son than his 
own father had been to him. There was nothing in the 
world more likely than this sort of intercourse to bring 
these two kinsfolk upon terms of closest friendship. And 
as Janetta indignantly told herself — there was nothing — 
nothing more. 

She always remembered that his wife was living ; she 
never forgot it for a moment. He was, of course, not a 
man whom she ever thought of loving — she was angry with 
herself for the very suggestion — but he was certainly a man 
who interested her more than any one whom she had ever 
met. And he was interested in her too. He liked to talk 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


167 

to her, to ask her advice and listen to her pet theories. 
She was friend, comrade, sister, all in one. Nothing more. 
But the position was, whether they knew it or not, a rather 
dangerous one, and an innocent friendship might have 
glided into something closer and more harmful had not an 
unexpected turn been given to the events of both their 
lives. 

For some time Janetta had seen little of the Adairs. 
They were very much occupied — visiting and receiving 
visits — and Margaret’s lessons were not persevered in. 
But one afternoon, shortly after Easter, she called at Mrs. 
Colwyn’s house between three and four, and asked when 
she might begin again. Before the day was settled, how- 
ever, they drifted into talk about other things, and Mar- 
garet was soon deeply engaged in an account of her pre- 
sentation at Court. 

“ I thought you were going to stay in town for the 
season ? ” Janetta asked. 

Margaret shook her head. “ It was so hot and noisy,” 
she murmured. “ Papa said the close rooms spoiled my 
complexion, and I am sure they spoiled my temper ! ” 
She smiled bewitchingly as she spoke. 

She was charmingly dressed in cream-colored muslin, 
with a soft silk sash of some nondescript pink hue tied 
round her waist, and a bunch of roses at her throat to 
match the Paris flowers in her broad-brimmed, slightly 
tilted, picturesque straw hat. A wrap for the carriage — 
fawn-colored, with silk-lining ot rose-pink toned by an 
under-tint of grey — carried out {he scheme of color sug- 
gested by her dress, and suited her fair complexion admir- 
ably. She had thrown this wrap over the back of a chair 
and removed her hat, so that Janetta might see whether 
she was altered or not. 

“ You are just a trifle paler,” Janetta confessed. 

As a matter of fact there were some tired lines under 
Margaret’s eyes, and a distinct waning of the fresh faint 
bloom upon her cheek — changes which made of her less the 
school girl than the woman of the world. And yet, to 
Janetta’s thinking, she was more beautiful than ever, for 
she was acquiring a little of the dignity given by experi- 
ence without losing the simple tranquillity of the exquisite 
child. 

“ I am a little tired,” Margaret said. “ One sees so 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


1 68 

much — one goes to so many places. I sighed for Helms- 
ley Court, and dear mamma brought me home.” 

At this moment a crash, as of some falling body, re- 
sounded through the house, followed by a clatter of break- 
ing crockery, and the cries of children. Janetta started 
up, with changing color, and apologized to her guest. 

“ Dear Margaret, will you excuse me for a moment ? I 
am afraid that one of the children must have fallen. I 
will be back in a minute or two.” 

“ Go, dear, by all means,” said Margaret, placidly. “ I 
know how necessary you are.” 

Janetta ran off, being desperately afraid that Mrs. Colwyn 
had been the cause of this commotion. But here she was 
mistaken. Mrs. Colwyn was safe in her room, but 
Phoebe, the charity orphan, had been met, while ascending 
the kitchen stair with the tea-tray in her hands, by a raid 
of nursery people — Tiny and Curly and Julian Brand, to 
wit — had been accidentally knocked down, had broken 
the best tea-set and dislocated her own collar-bone ; while 
Julian’s hand was severely cut and Curly’s right eye was 
black and blue. Tiny had fortunately escaped without 
injury, and it was she, therefore, who was sent to Mar- 
garet with a modified version of the disaster. 

“ Please, Janetta says, will you stay for a little minute 
or two till she comes back again ? Curly’s gone for the 
doctor because Phoebe’s done something to one of her 
bones ; and Janetta’s tying up Julian’s thumb because it’s 
bleeding so dreadfully.” 

“ I have never seen you before, have I ? ” said Margaret, 
smiling at the slim little girl with the delicate face and 
great blue eyes. “ You are Tiny; I have often heard of 
you. Do you know me ? ” 

“Yes,” said Tiny. “You are the beautiful lady who 
sends us flowers and things — Janetta’s friend.” 

“ Yes, that is right. And how long will Janetta be? ” 

“ Oh, not long, she said ; and she hoped you would not 
mind waiting for a little while ? ” 

“ Not at all. Is that the doctor ? ” as a knock re- 
sounded through the little house. 

“ I dare say it is,” said Tiny, running to the door ; and 
then after a moment’s pause, she added, in a rather disap- 
pointed tone, “No, it’s Julian’s father. It’s Mr. Brand.” 

“ Mr. Brand ! ” said Margaret, half-astonished and half- 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


169 


amused. “ Oh, I have heard of him.” And even as she 
spoke, the door opened, and Wyvis Brand walked straight 
into the room. 

He gave a very slight start as his eyes fell upon Mar- 
garet, but betrayed no other sign of surprise. Tiny flew 
to him at once, dragged at his hand, and effected some 
sort of informal introduction, mingled with an account of 
the accident which had happened to Julian. 

“ Don’t you want to go and ascertain the amount of the 
injury ? ” said Margaret, with a little smile. 

“ Not at all,” said Wyvis, emphatically, and took up his 
position by the mantel-piece, whence he got the best view 
of her graceful figure and flower-like face. Margaret felt 
the gaze and was not displeased by it, admiration was no 
new thing to her ; she smiled vaguely and slightly lowered 
her lovely eyes. And Wyvis stood and looked. 

In spite of his apparent roughness Wyvis Brand was an 
impressionable man. He had come into the room cold, 
tired, not quite in his usual health, and more than usually 
out of humor ; and instead of the ordinary sight of Janetta — 
a trim, pleasant, household-fairy sort of sight, it was true, 
but not of the wildly exciting kind — he found a vision, as 
it seemed to him, of the most ethereal beauty — a woman 
whose every movement was full of grace, whose exqui- 
sitely modulated voice expressed refinement as clearly as 
her delicately moulded features ; whose whole being 
seemed to exhale a sort of perfume of culture, as if she 
were in herself the most perfect product of a whole civil- 
ization. 

Wyvis had been in many drawing-rooms and known 
many women, more or less intimately, but he had never, in 
all his purposeless Bohemian life, come across exactly this 
type of woman — a type in which refinement counts for more 
than beauty, culture for more than grace. With a sudden 
leap of memory, he recalled some scenes of which he had 
been witness years before, when a woman, hot, red, excited 
with wine and with furious jealousy, had reviled him in the 
coarsest terms, had struck him in the face and had spat 
out; foul and vindictive words of abuse. That woman — ah, 
that woman was his wife — had been for many years to him 
the type of what women must always be when stripped of 
the veneer of society’s restraints. Janetta had of late 
shaken his conviction on this point ; it was reserved for 
Margaret Adair to shatter it to the winds. 


170 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


She looked so fair, so dainty, so delicate — he would 
have been a marvel amongst men who believed that her 
body was anything but “ an index to a most fair mind ” — 
that Wyvis said to himself that he had never seen any 
woman like her. He was fascinated and enthralled. The 
qualities which made her so different from his timid, under- 
bred, melancholy mother, or his coarse and self-indulgent 
wife, were those in which Margaret showed peculiar 
excellence. And before these — for the first time in his 
life — Wyvis Brand fell down and worshipped. 

It was unfortunate ; it was wrong ; but it was one of 
those things that will happen sometimes in everyday life. 
Wyvis was separated from his wife, and hated as much as 
he despised her. Almost without knowing what he did, 
he laid his whole heart and soul, suddenly and unthink- 
ingly, at Margaret’s feet. And Margaret, smiling and 
serene, utterly ignorant of his past, and not averse to 
a little romance that might end more flatteringly than Sir 
Philip’s attentions had done, was quite ready to accept 
the gift. 

Before Janetta had bound up Julian’s hand, and made 
some fresh tea, which she was obliged to carry upstairs her- 
self, Mr. Brand had obtained information from Margaret 
as to the day and hour on which she was likely to come to 
Janetta for her singing-lesson, and also as to several of her 
habits in the matter of walks and drives. Margaret gave 
the information innocently enough ; Wyvis had no direct 
purpose in extracting it; but the attraction which the two 
felt towards each other was sufficient to make such know- 
ledge of her movements undesirable, and even dangerous 
for both. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

FORGET-ME-NOTS. 

Lady Caroline, always mindful of her daughter’s moods, 
could not quite understand Margaret’s demeanor when she 
returned home that afternoon. She fancied that some 
news about Sir Philip might have reached the girl’s ear 
and distressed her mind. But when she skilfully led the 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


171 

conversation in that direction, Margaret said at once, with 
a complete absence of finesse that rather disconcerted her 
mother — 

“ No, mamma, I heard nothing about the Ashleys — 
mother or son.” 

“ Dear Margaret,” thought Lady Caroline, “ is surely 
not learning brusquerie and bad manners from that 
tiresome Miss Colwyn. What a very unlucky friendship 
that has been ! ” 

She did not seize the clue which Margaret unconsciously 
held out to her in the course of the same evening. The 
girl was sitting in a shady corner of the drawing-room 
holding a feather fan before her face, when she introduced 
what had hitherto been, at Helmsley Court, a forbidden 
topic — the history of the Brands. 

“ Papa,” she said, quietly, “ did you never know any- 
thing of the Red House people ? ” 

Lady Caroline glanced at her husband. Mr. Adair 
seemed to find it difficult to reply. 

“ Yes, of course, I did — in the old days,” he answered, 
less suavely than usual. 11 When the father was alive, I 
used to go to the house, but, of course, I was a mere lad 
then.” 

“ You do not know the sons, then ? ” said Margaret. 

“ My dear child, I do not hunt. Mr. Brand’s only 
appearance in society is on the hunting field.” 

“ But there is another brother — one who paints, I 
believe.” 

u He teaches drawing in some of the schools of the 
neighborhood,” Lady Caroline interposed, rather dryly. 
“ I suppose you do not want drawing lessons, dear? ” 

“ Oh, no,” said Margaret, indifferently. “ I only thought 
it seemed odd that we never met them anywhere.” 

“Not very suitable acquaintances,” murmured Lady 
Caroline, almost below her breath. Mr. Adair was look- 
ing at an illustrated magazine and did not seem to hear, 
but, after a moment’s pause, Margaret said, 

“ Why, mamma ? ” 

Lady Caroline hesitated for a moment. Mr. Adair 
shrugged his shoulders. Then she said slowly : 

“ His father married beneath him, my love. Mrs. 
Brand is a quite impossible person. If the young men 
would pension her off and send her away, the County 


172 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


would very likely take them up. But we cannot receive 
the mother.” 

“ That is another of what Sir Philip Ashley would call 
class-distinctions, is it not?” said Margaret, placidly. 
“ The sort of thing which made Miss Polehampton so 
anxious to separate me from poor Janetta.” 

“ Class-distinctions are generally founded on some 
inherent law of character or education, dear,” said Lady 
Caroline, softly. “ They are not so arbitrary as young 
people imagine. I hope the day will never come when the 
distinction of class will be done away with. I ” — piously 
— “ hope that I may be in my grave before that day 
comes.” 

“ Oh, of course they are very necessary,” said Margaret, 
comfortably. “ And, if old Mrs. Brand were to go away, 
I suppose her sons would be received everywhere ? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose so. The property is fairly good, is it 
not, Reginald ? ” 

“ Not very,” said Mr. Adair. “ The father squandered 
a good deal, and I fancy the present owner is economizing 
for the sake of his boy.” 

“ His boy ? ” A faint color stole into Margaret’s cheeks. 
“ Is he married, papa? ” 

“ Oh, the wife’s dead,” said Mr. Adair, hastily. It was 
part of Lady Caroline’s system that Margaret should not 
hear more than was absolutely necessary of what she 
termed “ disagreeable ” subjects. Elopements, separation 
and divorce cases all came under that head. So that when 
Mr. Adair, who knew more of Mr. Brand’s domestic 
history than he chose to say, added immediately — “ At 
least I heard so : I believe so,” he did not think that he 
was actually departing from fact, but only that he was 
coloring the matter suitably for Margaret’s infant under- 
standing. He really believed that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was 
divorced from her husband, and it was “the same thing as 
being dead, you know,” he would have replied if interro- 
gated on the subject. 

Margaret did not respond, and * Lady Caroline never 
once suspected that she had any real interest in the matter. 
But the very fact that Wyvis Brand was represented to her 
as a widower threw a halo of romance around his head in 
Margaret’s eyes. A man who has “ loved and lost ” is 
often invested with a peculiar kind of sanctity in the eyes 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


m 


of a young girl. Wyvis Brand’s handsome face and evident 
admiration of herself did not prepossess Margaret in his 
favor half so much as the fact that he had known loss and 
sorrow, and was temporarily ostracized by County society 
because his mother was “ an impossible person.” This 
last deprivation appealed to Margaret’s imagination more 
than the first. It seemed to her a terrible thing to remain 
unvisited by the “ County.” What a good thing it would 
be, she reflected, if Mr. Brand could marry some nice girl, 
who would persuade him to send his mother back to 
France, and for whose sake the County magnates would 
extend to him the right hand of fellowship. To reinstate 
him in his proper position — the position which Margaret 
told herself he deserved and would adorn — seemed to her 
an ambition worthy of any woman in the world. For 
Margaret’s nature was curiously mixed. From her father 
she had inherited a great love of the beautiful and the 
romantic — there was a thoroughly unworldly strain in him 
which had descended to her ; but, then, it was counteracted 
by the influences which she had imbibed from Lady Caro- 
line. Margaret used sometimes to rebel against her 
mother’s maxims of worldly wisdom, but they gradually 
permeated her mind, and the gold was so mingled with 
alloy that it was difficult to separate one from the other. 
She thought herself a very unworldly person. We all have 
ideals of ourselves ; and Margaret’s ideal of herself was of 
a rather saint-like creature, with high aspirations and pure 
motives. Where her weakness really lay she had not the 
faintest notion. 

It was strange even to herself to note the impression 
that Wyvis Brand had produced on her. He was certainly 
of the type that tends to attract impressionable girls, for 
he was dark and handsome, with the indefinable touch of 
melancholy in his eyes which lends a subtler interest to the 
face than mere beauty. The little that she knew of his 
history had touched her. She constructed a great deal 
from the few facts or fancies that had been given to her, 
and the result was sufficiently unlike the real man to be 
recognizable by nobody but Margaret herself. 

It has already been said that the Adair property and 
that of Wyvis Brand lay side by side. The Adair estate 
was a large one : that of the Brands’ comparatively small ; 
but at one point the two properties were separated for some 


174 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


little distance only by a narrow fishing stream, on one side 
of which stretched an outlying portion of Mr. Adair's 
park ; while on the other side lay a plantation, approached 
through the Beaminster woods, and not very far from the 
Red House itself. It was in this plantation — which was 
divided from the woods only by a wire fence — that Janetta 
had found little Julian and had afterwards encountered 
Wyvis Brand. 

In spring the plantation was a particularly pleasant place. 
It was starred with primroses and anemones in the earlier 
months of the year, and blue with hyacinths at a later 
date. At a little distance the flowers looked like a veil of 
color spread between the trees. The brook between the 
park and the plantation was a merry little stream, dancing 
gaily over golden pebbles, and brightly responsive to the 
sunshine that flickered between the lightly-clothed branches 
of the trees bordering it on either side. It was famous in 
the neighborhood for the big blue forget-me-nots that grew 
there ; but it could hardly have been in search of forget- 
me-nots that Margaret Adair wandered along its side one 
morning, for they were scarcely in season, and her dreamy 
eyes did not seem to be looking for them on the bank. 

From amongst the trees of the plantation there appeared 
suddenly a man, who doffed his cap to Miss Adair with a 
look of mingled pleasure and surprise. 

“ Oh, good-morning, Mr. Brand.” 

“ Good-morning, Miss Adair.” No greeting could have 
been more conventional. “ May I ask if you are looking 
for forget-me-nots ? There are some already out lower 
down the stream. I will show you where they are if you 
will turn to the left.” 

“ Thank you,” said Margaret. 

They moved down the slight slope together, but on dif- 
ferent sides of the stream. At last they reached the spot 
where a gleam of blue was visible at the water’s edge. 

“ It is on your side,” Margaret said, with a little smile. 

“ I will get them for you,” he replied. And she stood 
waiting while he gathered the faintly-tinted blossoms. 

“ And now,” she said, as he rose to his feet again, “ how 
will you give them to me ? I am afraid I cannot reach 
across.” 

“ I could come over to you,” said Wyvis, his dark eyes 
resting upon her eagerly. “Will you ask me to come?” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


175 

She paused. “ Why should I ask you ? ” she said, with 
a smile, as if between jest and earnest. 

“You are standing on your ground, and I on mine. I 
have never in my life been asked to cross the boundary. ” 

“ I ask you then,” said Margaret coloring prettily. She 
was half-frightened at the significance of her own words, 
when she had spoken them. But it was too late to retract. 
It took Wyvis Brand a moment only to leap the brook, 
and to find himself at her side. Then, taking off his hat 
and bowing low, he presented her with the flowers that he 
had gathered. She thanked him with a blush. 

“ Will you give me one ? ” he asked, his eyes fixed upon 
her lovely face. “ Just one ! ” 

“ Why did you not keep one ? ” she said, bending over 
her nosegay as if absorbed in its arrangement. “ They are 
so rare that I hardly know how to spare any.” Which was 
a bit of innocent coquetry on Margaret’s part. 

“ Just one,” he pleaded. “ As a reward. As a me- 
mento.” 

“ A memento of what ? ” she asked, separating one or 
two flowers from the bunch as she spoke. 

“ Of this occasion.” 

“ It is such an important occasion, is it not ? ” she said, 
with a sweet, mocking little laugh. 

“ A very important occasion to me. Have I not met 
you ? ” 

“ That is a most charming compliment,” said Margaret, 
who was not unused to hearing words of this kind in Lon- 
don drawing-rooms, and was quite in her native element. 
“ In reward for it I will give you a flower — which of course 
you will throw away as soon as I am out of sight.” 

“ No, not when you are out of sight : when you are out 
of mind,” he said, significantly. 

“The two are synonymous,” said Margaret. 

“ Are they ? Not with me. Throw it away ? I will 
show you that it shall not be thrown away.” 

He produced a little pocket-book and put the forget-me- 
nots into it, carefully pressing them down against a blank 
page. 

“There,” he said, as he made a note in pencil at the 
bottom of the page, “ that will be always with me now.” 

“ The poor forget-me-not ! ” said Margaret, smiling. 
“ What a sad fate for it ! To be torn from its home by 


176 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


the brook, taken away from the sun and the air, to languish 
out its life in a pocket-book. 7 ’ 

“ It should feel itself honored,” said Wyvis, “ because it 
is dying for you.” 

As we have said, this strain of half-jesting compliment 
was not unfamiliar to Margaret ; but she could hardly 
remain unconscious of the fact that a deeper note had crept 
into his voice during the last few words, and that his eyes 
glowed with a fire more ardent than she usually saw. She 
drew back a little, and looked down : she was not exactly 
displeased, but she was embarrassed. He noticed and 
understood the expression of her face ; and changed his 
tone immediately. 

“ This is a pretty place,” he said, indicating the park 
and the distant woods by a wave of his hand. u I always 
regret that I have been away from it so long.” 

“ You have lived a great deal in France, I believe? ” 

“ Yes, and in Italy, too. But I tired of foreign lands at 
last, and persuaded my mother to come home with me. I 
am glad that I came.” 

“ You like the neighborhood? ” said Margaret, in a tone 
of conventional interest. 

Wyvis laughed. “ I don’t see much of my neighbors,” 
he said, rather drily. “ They don’t approve of my family. 
But I like the scenery — and I have a friend or two — Miss 
Colwyn, for instance, who is a kinswoman of mine, you 
know.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” said Margaret, eagerly. Her momentary 
distrust of him vanished when she remembered Janetta. 
Of course, Janetta’s cousin must be “ nice ! ” — “ I am so 
fond of Janetta : she is so clever and so good.” 

“ It is a great thing for her to have a friend like you,” 
said Wyvis, looking at her wistfully. In very truth, she 
was a wonderment to him ; she seemed so ethereal, so 
saint-like, so innocent ! And Margaret smiled pensively 
in return : unlimited admiration was quite to her taste. 

“ Do you often walk here ? ” he inquired, when at last 
she said that she must return home. 

And she said — “Sometimes.” 

“ Sometimes ” is a very indefinite and convenient word. 
It may mean anything or nothing. In a very short time, 
it meant that Margaret took a book out with her and 
walked down to the boundary stream about three times a 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


l 77 


week, if not oftener, and that Wyvis Brand was always 
there to bear her company. Before long a few stepping- 
stones were dropped into the brook, so that she could 
cross it without wetting her dainty feet It was shadier 
and cooler in the closely-grown plantation than in the open 
park. And meetings in the plantation were less likely to 
be discovered than in a more public place. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

lady ashley’s garden party. 

It may be wondered that Margaret had so much idle time 
upon her hands, and was not more constantly supervised 
in her comings and goings by Lady Caroline. But certain 
occurrences in the Adair family made it easy just then for 
her to go her own way. Mr. Adair was obliged to stay in 
London on business, and while he was away very little was 
doing at Helmsley Court. Lady Caroline took the oppor- 
tunity of his absence to “give way” a little : she suffered 
occasionally from neuralgia, and the doctor recommended 
her not to rise much before noon. Margaret’s comfort 
and welfare were not neglected. A Miss Stone, a distant 
relation of Lady Caroline’s, came to spend a few weeks at 
the Court as a companion for Margaret. Miss Stone was 
not at all a disagreeable person. She could play tennis, 
dance, and sing ; she could accompany Margaret’s songs : 
she could talk or be silent, as seemed good to her ; and 
she was a model of tact and discretion. She was about 
thirty-five, but looked younger : she dressed well, and had 
pleasing manners, and without being absolutely handsome 
was sufficiently good looking. Miss Alicia Stone was 
almost penniless, and did not like to work ; but she 
generally found herself provided for as “sheep-dog” or 
chaperon in some house of her numerous aristocratic 
friends. She was an amusing talker, and Margaret liked 
her society well enough, but Miss Stone was too clever not 
to know when she was not wanted. It soon became 
evident to the companion that for some reason Margaret 
liked to walk in the park alone in a morning ; and what 
Margaret liked was law. Alicia knew how to efface herself 

12 


7 * 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


on sucn occasions, so that when Lady Caroline asked at 
luncheon what the two had been doing all the morning, it 
was easy and natural for Miss Stone to reply, “ Oh, we 
have been out in the park,” although this meant only that 
she had been sitting at the conservatory door with a novel, 
while Margaret had been wandering half a mile away. 
Lady Caroline used to smile, and was satisfied. 

And Margaret’s conscience was very little troubled. She 
had never been told, she sometimes said to herself, that she 
was not to speak to Mr. Brand. And she was possessed 
with the fervent desire to save his soul (and social reputa- 
tion), which sometimes leads young women into follies 
which they afterwards regret. He told her vaguely that 
he had had a miserable, unsatisfactory sort of life, and that 
he wished to amend. He did not add that his first 
impulses towards amendment had come from Janetta 
Colwyn. Margaret thought that she was responsible for 
them, one and all. And she felt it incumbent upon her to 
foster their growth, even at the price of a small conceal- 
ment — although it would, as she very well knew, be a great 
one in her parents’ eyes. 

As the days went on towards summer it seemed to 
Janetta as though some interest, some brightness perhaps, 
had died out of her life. Her friends — her two chief 
friends, to whom her vow of friendship and service had 
been sworn — were, in some inexplicable manner, alienated 
from her. Margaret came regularly for her singing-lesson, 
but never lingered to talk as she had done at first. She 
seemed pensive, languid, preoccupied. Wyvis Brand had 
left off calling for little Julian, except on rare occasions. 
Perhaps his frequent loitering in the plantation left him 
but scant time for his daily work; he always pleaded 
business when his boy reproached him for his remissness, 
or when Janetta questioned him somewhat mournfully with 
her earnest eyes. Certainly he too seemed preoccupied, 
and when he was beguiled into the Colwyns’ little drawing- * 
room he would sit almost silent in Janetta’s company, 
never once asking her counsel or opinion as he had done 
in earlier days. It was possible that in her presence he 
felt a sort of compunction, a sort of conscience-stricken 
shame. And his silence and apparent estrangement lay 
upon Janetta’s heart like lead. 

Poor Janetta was going through a time of depression 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


179 


and disappointment Mrs. Colwyn had had two or three 
terrible relapses, and her condition could no longer be kept 
quite a secret from her friends. Janetta had been obliged 
to call in the aid of the doctor who had been her father’s 
best friend, and he recommended various changes of diet 
and habits which gave the girl far more trouble than he 
knew. Where poverty is present in a home, it is sometimes 
hard to do the best either for the sinning or the suffering ; 
and so Mrs. Colwyn’s weakness was one of the heaviest 
burdens that Janetta had to bear. The only gleams of 
brightness in her lot lay in the love and gentleness of the 
children that she taught, and in her satisfaction with Nora’s 
engagement to Cuthbert. In almost all other respects 
she began to feel aware that she was heavily handicapped. 

It was nearly the end of June before she received the 
long-expected invitation from Lady Ashley. But it was 
not to an evening party. It was a sort of combination 
entertainment — a garden-party for the young, and music 
for those elder persons who did not care, to watch games 
at tennis all the afternoon. And Janetta was asked to 
sing. 

The day of the party was cloudlessly fine, but not too 
warm, as a pleasant little summer breeze was blowing. 
Janetta donned a thin black dress of some gauzy material, 
and thought that she looked very careworn and dowdy in 
her little bedroom looking-glass. But when she reached 
Lady Ashley’s house, excitement had brought a vivid 
color to her face ; and when her hostess, after an appre- 
ciative glance at her dress, quietly pinned a cluster of 
scarlet geranium blooms at her neck, the little songstress 
presented an undeniably distinguished appearance. If she 
was not exactly pretty, she was more than pretty — she was 
striking and original. 

Margaret Adair looked up and smiled at her from a 
corner, when Janetta first came forward to sing. She was 
one of the very few girls who were present, for most of the 
young people were in the garden ; but she had insisted on 
coming in to hear Janetta’s song. She did not care about 
playing tennis ; it made her hot, and ruffled her pretty 
Paris gown, which was not suitable for violent exertion of 
any kind ; she left violent exertion to Alicia Stone, who 
was always ready to join in other people’s amusements. 
Lady Caroline was not present ; her neuralgia was trouble- 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


I So 

some, and she had every confidence in Alicia’s chaperonage 
and Margaret’s discretion. Poor Lady Caroline was 
sometimes terribly mistaken in her reading of character. 

To the surprise of a good many people, the Brands were 
there. Not Mrs. Brand — only the two young men ; but the 
fact was a good deal commented upon, as hitherto “ the 
County” had taken very little notice of the owner of the 
Red House. It was perhaps this fact that had impelled 
Sir Philip to show the Brands some courtesy. He declared 
that he knew nothing bad of these men, and that they 
ought not to be blamed for their father’s sins. Personally 
he liked them both, and he had no difficulty in persuading 
his mother to call on Mrs. Brand, and then to send 
invitations for the garden party. But Mrs. Brand, as 
usual, declined to go out, and was represented only by her 
sons. 

What Sir Philip had not calculated on was the air of 
possession and previous acquaintance with which Wyvis 
Brand greeted Miss Adair. He had hardly expected that 
Margaret would come ; and, indeed, Margaret had been 
loath to accept Lady Ashley’s invitation, especially without 
the escort of her mother. On the other hand, Lady 
Caroline was very anxious that the world should not know 
the extent of the breach between the two families ; and she 
argued that it would be very marked if Margaret stayed 
away from a large garden party to which “ everybody ” 
went, and where it would be very easy to do nothing more 
than exchange a mere passing salutation with Sir Philip. 
So she had rather insisted on Margaret’s going; and the 
girl had had her own reasons for not protesting too much. 
She knew that Wyvis Brand would be there ; and she had 
a fancy for seeing him amongst other men, and observing 
how he bore himself in other people’s society. 

She was perfectly satisfied with the result. His appear- 
ance was faultless — far better than that of Sir Philip, who 
sometimes wore a coat until it was shiny at the shoulders, 
and was not very particular about his boots. Upright, 
handsome, well-dressed, with the air of distinction which 
Margaret much preferred to beauty in a man, he was a 
distinctly noticeable figure, and Margaret innocently 
thought that there was no reason why she should not 
show, in a well-bred and maidenly way, of course, her 
liking for him. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


181 


She had never had much resistent power, this “ rare, 
pale Margaret” of Sir Philip’s dreams, and it seemed 
quite natural to her that Wyvis should hover at her side 
and attend to all her wants that afternoon. She did not 
notice that he was keeping off other men by his air of 
proprietorship, and that women, old and young, were eye- 
ing her with surprise and disapprobation as she walked up 
and down the lawn with him and allowed him to provide 
her with tea or strawberries and cream. She was under a 
charm, and could not bear the idea of sending him away. 
While Wyvis — for his excuse let it be said that his air of 
proprietorship was unconscious, and came simply out of 
his intense admiration for the girl and his headlong 
absorption in the interest of the moment. He did not at 
all know how intently and exclusively he looked at her; 
how reverential and yet masterful was his attitude ; and 
the sweet consciousness that sat on her down-dropped eye- 
lids and tenderly flushed cheeks acted as no warning to 
him, but only as an incentive to persevere. 

The situation became patent to Janetta, when she stood 
up to sing. Margaret looked, nodded, and smiled at her 
with exquisite shy friendliness. Janetta returned the greet- 
ing ; and then — as people noticed — suddenly flushed scarlet 
and as suddenly turned pale. Many persons set this 
change of color down to nervousness ; but Sir Philip 
Ashley followed the direction of her eyes and knew what 
she had seen. 

Miss Adair was sitting in a corner of the room, where 
perhaps she hoped to be unremarked ; but her fair beauty 
and her white dress made it difficult for her to remain 
obscure. Wyvis Brand stood beside her, leaning against 
the wall, with arms folded across his breast. He was more 
in shadow than was she, for he was touched by the folds of 
a heavy velvet curtain ; but his attitude was significant. 
He was not looking at the singer, or at the room ; his 
whole attention was visibly concentrated upon Margaret. 
He was looking at her, some one remarked quite audibly, 
as if he never meant to look away again. The close, keen 
absorption of that gaze was unusual enough to shock con- 
ventional observers. There would have been nothing 
insolent or overbold about it were he her husband or 
her lover ; but from a man who — as far as “ the County ” 
knew — was a comparative stranger in the land, and almost 


182 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


an outsider, it was positively shocking. And yet Miss 
Adair looked as if she were only pleasantly conscious of 
this rude man’s stare. 

Fortunately for Margaret’s reputation, it was currently 
believed that Wyvis Brand’s wife was dead. Those who 
had some notion that she was living thought that he had 
divorced her. The general impression was that he was at 
any rate free to marry ; and that he was laying siege to the 
heart of the prettiest girl in the County now seemed an 
indisputable fact. Perhaps Janetta only, of all the persons 
assembled together in the room, knew the facts of Wyvis 
Brand’s unhappy marriage. And to Janetta, as well as to 
other people, it became plain that afternoon that he had 
completely lost his heart — perhaps his head as well — to 
Margaret Adair. 

The chatter of the crowd would have revealed as much 
to Janetta, even if her own observation had not told her a 
good deal. “ How that man does stare at that girl ! Is 
he engaged to her?” “Young Brand’s utterly gone on 
Miss Adair; that’s evident.” “Is Lady Caroline not 
here ? Do you think that she knows ? ” “ Margaret Adair 
is certainly very pretty, but I should not like one of my 
girls to let herself be made so conspicuous ! ” Such were 
some of the remarks that fell on Janetta’s ear, and made 
her face burn with shame and indignation. Not that she 
exactly believed in the reality even of the things that she 
had seen. That Wyvis should admire Margaret was so 
natural! That Margaret should accept the offered admi- 
ration in her usual serene manner was equally to be 
expected. But that either of them should be unwise enough 
to give rise to idle gossip about so natural a state of mind 
was what Janetta could not understand. It was not 
Margaret’s fault ; she was very sure of that. It must be 
Wyvis Brand’s. He was her cousin, and she might surely 
— perhaps — ask him what he meant by putting Margaret in 
such a false position ! Oh, but she could not presume to 
do that. What would he think of her? And yet — and 
yet — the look with which he had regarded Margaret seemed 
to be stamped indelibly upon Janetta’s faithful, aching 
heart. 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


1*3 


CHAPTER XXV. 

SIR PHILIP’S DECISION. 

“ Philip,” said Lady Ashley that evening, with some hesi- 
tation in her speech ; “ Philip — did you — did you notice 
Mr. Brand — much — to-day?” 

The guests had all gone ; dinner was over ; mother and 
son were sitting in wicker chairs on the terrace, resting 
after the fatigues of the day. Sir Philip was smoking a 
very mild cigarette : he was not very fond of tobacco, for, 
as the Adairs sometimes expressed it, he “ had no small 
vices.” Lady Ashley was wrapped in a white shawl, and 
her delicate, blue-veined hands were crossed upon her lap 
in unaccustomed idleness. 

“ I did notice him,” said her son, quietly. “ He seemed 
to be paying a great deal of attention to Miss Adair.” 

“ Oh, Philip, dear, it distressed me so much ! ” 

“ Why should it distress you, mother ? — it is nothing to 
us.” 

“ Well, if you feel in that way about it — still, I am grieved 
for the Adairs’ sake. After all, they are old friends of 
ours. And I had hoped ” 

“Our hopes are not often realized, are they?” said Sir 
Philip, in the gentle, persuasive tones that his mother 
thought so winning. “ Perhaps it is best. At any rate, it 
is best to forget the hopes that never can be realized.” 

u Do you think it is really so, Philip ? Everyone was 
talking about his manner this afternoon.” 

“ She was giving him every encouragement,” said her 
son, looking away. 

“ Such an undesirable match ! Poor Lady Caroline ! ” 

“We do not know how things are being arranged, 
mother. Possibly Lady Caroline and Mr. Adair are favor- 
ing an engagement. Miss Adair is hardly likely to act 
against their will.” 

“ No, she has scarcely resolution enough for that. Then 
you don’t think that they met for the first time this after- 
noon ? ” 


184 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Gracious heavens, no ! '* said Sir Philip, roused a little 
out of his apparent indifference. “ They met quite as old 
acquaintances — old friends. I suppose the Adairs have 
renewed the friendship. The properties lie side by side. 
That may be a reason.” 

“ I am very sorry we asked him here,” said Lady Ashley, 
almost viciously. “I had no idea that he was paying 
attention to her . I hope there is nothing wrong about it 
— such a very undesirable match ! ” 

“ I don’t really know why,” said her son, with a forced 
smile. “ Wyvis Brand is a fine, handsome fellow, and the 
property, though small, is a nice one. Miss Adair might 
do worse.” 

“ I believe her mother thinks that she might marry a 
duke.” 

‘‘And so she might. She is a great beauty, and an 
heiress.” And there was a ring of bitterness in his tone 
which pained his mother’s heart. 

“ Ah, Philip,” she said — not very wisely — “ you need not 
regret her. ‘ A fair woman without discretion,’ she would 
not be the wife for you.” 

“ I beg that you will not say that again, mother.” He 
did not turn his face towards her, and his voice was stu- 
diously gentle, but it was decided too. “ She is, as you say, 
4 a fair woman,’ but she has not shown herself as yet ‘ with- 
out discretion,’ and it is hardly kind to condemn her before 
she has done any wrong.” 

“ I do not think that she behaved well to you, Philip. 
But I beg your pardon, my son : we will not discuss the 
matter. It seems hard to me, of course, that you should 
have suffered for any woman’s sake.” 

“ Ah, mother, every one does not see me with your 
kind eyes,” he said, bringing his face round with a smile, 
and laying his right hand over one of hers. But the smile 
thinly disguised the pain that lingered like a shadow in 
his eyes. “ Let us hope, at any rate, that Margaret may 
be happy.” 

Lady Ashley sighed and pressed his hand. “ If you 
could but meet some one else whom you cared for as much, 
Philip ! ” And then she paused, for he had — involuntarily 
as it seemed — shaken his head, and she did not like to pro- 
ceed further. 

A pause of some minutes followed ; and then she deter- 
mined to change the subject. 


4 TRUE FRIEND . 


85 


“ The music went very well this afternoon, I think,” she 
said. “ Miss Colwyn was in very good voice. Do you 
not like her singing ? ” 

“ Yes, very much.” 

“ The Watertons were asking me about her. And the 
Be vans. I fancy she will get several engagements. Poor 
girl, I hope she will.” 

Sir Philip threw away the end of his cigarette, and got 
up rather abruptly, Lady Ashley thought. Without a word 
he began to pace up and down the terrace, and finally, 
turning his back on her, he stared at the garden and the 
distant view, now faintly illumined by a rising moon, as if 
he had forgotten his mother’s very existence. Lady Ashley 
was surprised. He usually treated her with such marked 
distinction that to appear for a moment unconscious of her 
presence was almost a slight. She was too dignified, how- 
ever, to try to recall his attention, and she waited quietly 
until her son turned round again and suddenly faced her 
with an air of calm determination. 

“ Mother,” he said, “ I have something important to 
say.” 

“ Well, Philip?” 

“ You have often said that you wanted me to marry.” 

“ Yes, dearest, I do wish it.” 

“ I also see the expediency of marriage. The woman 
whom I loved, who seemed to us as suitable as she is 
lovely, will not marry me. What shall I look for in my 
second choice? Character rather than fortune, health 
rather than beauty. This seems to me the wiser way.” 

“ And love rather than expediency,” said his mother 
quickly. 

“ Ah ! ” he drew a long breath. “ But we can’t always 
have love. The other requisites are perhaps more easily 
found.” 

“ Have you found them, Philip ? ” The mother’s voice 
quivered as she asked the question. He did not answer it 
immediately — he stood looking at the ground for some 
little time. 

“ My mind is made up,” he said at last, slowly and quiet- 
ly ; “I know what I want, and I think that I have found it. 
Mother, I am going to ask Miss Colwyn to be my wife.” 

If a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet, Lady Ashley 
could not have been more amazec]. She sat silent, rigid, 
incapable of a reply. 


186 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


t( I have seen something of her, and I have heard more,” 
her son went on, soberly. “ She is of sterling worth. She 
has intellect, character, affection : what can we want more ? 
She is attractive, if not exactly beautiful, and she is good 
— thoroughly good and true.’’ 

“ But her connections, Philip — her relations,” gasped 
Lady Ashley. 

“ It will be easy enough to do something for them. Of 
course they will have to be provided for — away from 
Beaminster, if possible. She is an orphan, remember : 
these are only her half sisters and brothers.’ 

“ There is the dreadful stepmother ! ” 

“I think we can manage her. These points do not 
concern the main issue, mother. Will you receive her as 
your daughter if I bring Janetta Colwyn here as my wife ? ” 

Lady Ashley had put her handkerchief to her eyes. “ I 
will do anything to please you, Philip,” she said, almost 
inaudibly ; “ but I cannot pretend that this is anything but 
a disappointment.” 

“ I have thought the matter well over. I am convinced 
that she will make a good wife,” said the young man ; and 
from his voice and manner Lady Ashley felt that his reso- 
lution was invulnerable. “ There is absolutely no objection 
except the one concerning her relations — and that may be 
got over. Mother, you wish for my happiness : tell me 
that you will not disapprove.” 

Lady Ashley got up from her basket chair, and laid 
her arms round Philip’s neck. 

u My dear son,” she said, “ I will do my best. I wish 
for nothing but your happiness, and I should never think 
of trying to thwart your intentions. But you must give 
me a little time in which to accustom myself to this new 
idea.” 

And then she wept a little, and kissed and blessed him, 
and they parted on the most cordial of terms. Neverthe- 
less, neither of them was very happy. Lady Ashley was, 
as she had said, disappointed in the choice that he had 
made ; and Sir Philip, in spite of his brave words, was 
very sore at heart. 

Janetta, all unconscious of the honor preparing for her, 
was meanwhile passing some miserable hours. She could 
not sleep that night — she knew not why. It was the ex- 
citement of the party, she supposed. But something 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


187 


beside excitement was stirring in her heart. She tried to 
give it a name, but she would not look the thing fairly in 
the face, and, therefore, she was not very successful in her 
nomenclature. She called it friendly interest in others, a 
desire for their happiness, a desire also for their good. 
What made the burning pain and unrest of these desires ? 
Why should they cause her such suffering? She did not 
know — or, more correctly, she refused to know. 

She rose in the morning feeling haggard and unrefreshed. 
The day was a very hot one ; the breeze had died away, 
and there was not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Julian 
Brand came in the dogcart with the groom. He had not 
seen his father that morning, he said, and he thought that 
he had gone away, but he did not know. Gone away ? 
Janetta sat down to her work with a heavy heart. It 
seemed to her that she must speak either to him or to Mar- 
garet. He was compromising her friend, and for Margaret’s 
sake she must not hold her peace. Well, it was the day 
for Miss Adair’s singing lesson. When she came that after- 
noon, Janetta made up her mind that she would say a 
needful word. 

But Margaret did not come. She sent a note, asking to 
be excused. She had a headache, and could not sing that 
afternoon. 

“ She is afraid to come ! ” said Janetta, passionately, 
and for almost the first time she felt a thrill of anger against 
her friend. 

Another visitor came, if Margaret did not. About four 
o’clock, just as Julian was beginning to wonder when he 
would be fetched away, a thundering peal at the door 
knocker announced the appearance of Wyvis Brand. 
Janetta was in the drawing-room putting away some music 
when he came in. She saw that he glanced eagerly round 
the room, as if expecting to see someone else — perhaps 
Margaret Adair — and her heart hardened to him a little as 
she gave him her hand. Had he come at that hour 
because Margaret generally took her lesson then ? 

“ How cold you are ! ” cried Wyvis, holding the little 
hand for the moment in his own. “ On this hot day ! How 
can you manage to keep so cool ? ” 

If his heart had been throbbing and his head burning as 
Janetta’s were just then, he might have known how to 
answer the question. 


188 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“You have come for Julian, I suppose?” she said, a 
little coldly. 

Yes — in a minute or two. Won’t you let me rest for a 
few minutes after my walk in the broiling sun ? ” 

“ Oh, certainly ; you shall have some tea, if you like. I 
am at liberty this afternoon,” said Janetta, with a little 
malice, “ as my pupil has just sent me word that she has a 
headache, and cannot come.” 

“ Who is your pupil this afternoon ? ” said Wyvis, 
stroking his black moustache. 

“ Miss Adair.” 

He gave her a quick, keen glance, then turned away. 
She read vexation in his eyes. 

“ Don’t let me trouble you,” he said, in a different tone, 
as she moved towards the door ; “ I really ought not to 
stay — I have an engagement or two to fulfill. No tea, 
thanks. Is Julian ready ? ” 

“ In a minute or two I will call him. I want to ask you 
a question first — if you will let me ? ” 

“ All right ; go on. That’s the way people begin dis- 
agreeable subjects, do you know ? ” 

“ I don’t know whether you will consider this a disagree- 
able question. I suppose you will,” said Janetta, with an 
effort. “ I promised you once to say nothing to my 
friends about your affairs — about Julian’s mother, and I 
have kept my word. But I must ask you now — does Miss 
Adair know that you are married ? ” 

There was a moment’s pause. They stood opposite one 
another, and, lifting her eyes to his face, she saw that he 
was frowning heavily and gnawing his moustache. 

“ What does that matter to you ? ” he said, angrily, at 
last. 

She shrank a little, but answered steadily — 

“ Margaret is my friend.” 

“ Well, what then ? ” 

The color rose to Janetta’s face. I don’t believe you 
knew what you were doing yesterday,” she said ; “ but I 
knew — I heard people talking, and I knew what people 
thought. They said that you were paying attention to 
Miss Adair. They supposed you were going to marry her 
soon. None of them seemed to know that — that — your 
wife was still alive. And of course I could not tell 
them.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 189 

“ Of course not,” he assented, with curious eagerness ; 
“ I knew you would keep your word.” 

“You made Margaret conspicuous,” Janetta continued, 
with some warmth. “ You placed her in a very false posi- 
tion. If she thinks, as other people thought, that you 
want to marry her, she ought to be told the truth at once. 
You must tell her — yourself — that you were only amusing 
yourself — only playing with her, as no man has a right to 
play with a girl,” said Janetta, with such vehemence that 
the tears rose to her great dark eyes and the scarlet color 
to her cheeks — “ that you were flirting, in fact, and that 
Julian’s mother — your wife , Cousin Wyvis — is still alive.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“ FREE ! ” 

“ And what if I refuse to tell her this ? ” said Wyvis 
Brand. 

“ Then I shall tell her myself.” 

“ And break your word to me ? ” 

“ And break my word.” 

He stood looking at her fora minute in silence, and then 
an ironical smile curled his lip as he turned aside. 

“ Women are all alike,” he said. “ They cannot possibly 
hold their tongues. I thought you were superior to most 
of your sex. I remember that your father once spoke of 
you to me as i his faithful Janet.’ Is this your faith- 
fulness ? ” 

“ Yes, it is, it is,” she cried ; and then, sitting down, she 
suddenly burst into tears. She was unnerved and agitated, 
and so she wept, as girls will weep — for nothing at all 
sometimes, and sometimes in the very crisis of their fate. 

Wyvis looked on, uncomprehending, a little touched, 
though rather against his will, by Janetta’s tears. He 
knew that she did not often cry. He waited for the 
paroxysm to pass — waited grimly, but with “ compunctuous 
visitings.” And presently he was rewarded for his patience. 
She dried her eyes, lifted up her head, and spoke. 

“ I don’t know why I should make such a fool of my- 
self,” she said. “ I suppose it was because you mentioned 


190 


/ TRUE FRIEND. 


my father. Yes, he used to call me his faithful Janet very 
often. I have always tried — to — to deserve that name/’ 

“ Forgive me, Janetta,” said her cousin, more moved 
than he liked to appear. “ I did not want to hurt you ; 
but, indeed, my dear girl, you must let me manage my 
affairs for myself. You are not responsible for Margaret 
Adair as you were for Nora; and you can’t, you know, 
bring me to book as you did my brother, Cuthbert.” 

“ You mean that I interfere too much in other people’s 
business? ” said poor Janetta, with quivering lips. 

“ I did not say so. I only say, ‘ Doji' t interfere.’ ” 

“ It is very hard to do right,” said Janetta, looking at 
him with wistful eyes. One’s duty seems so divided. Mar- 
garet is not my sister — that is true, but she is my friend ; 
and I always believed that one had responsibilities and 
duties towards friends as well as towards relations.” 

“ Possibly ” — in a very dry tone. “ But you need not 
meddle with what is no concern of yours.” 

“ It is my concern, if you — my cousin — are not acting 
rightly to my friend.” 

“ I say it is no concern of yours at all.” 

They had come to a deadlock. He faced her, with the 
dark, haughty, imperious look which she knew so well 
upon his fine features ; she stood silent, angry too, and 
almost as imperious. But, womanlike, she yielded first. 

“ You asked me once to be your friend, Cousin Wyvis. 
I want to be yours and Margaret’s too. Won’t you let me 
see what you mean ? ” 

Wyvis Brand’s brow relaxed a little. 

“ I don’t understand your views of friendship : it seems 
to mean a right to intermeddle with all the affairs of your 
acquaintances,” he said, cuttingly ; “ but since you are so 
good as to ask my intentions ” 

“ If you talk like that, I’ll never speak to you again ! ” 
cried Janetta, who was not remarkable for her meekness. 

Wyvis actually smiled. 

“ Come,” he said, “ be friends, Janetta. I assure you I 
don’t mean any harm. You must not be straight-laced. 
Your pretty friend is no doubt well able to take care of 
herself.” 

But he looked down as he said this and knitted his 
brows. 

“ She has never had occasion to do it,” said Janetta, 
epigrammatically. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


191 


“ Then don’t you think it is time she learns ? ” 

“ You have no right to be her teacher.” 

“ Right ! right ! ” cried Wyvis, impatiently. “ I am tired 
of this cuckoo-cry about my rights ! I have the right to 
do what I choose, to get what pleasure out of life I can, to 
do my best for myself. It is everybody’s right, and he is 
only a hypocrite who denies it.” 

“ There is one limitation,” said Janetta. “ Get what 
you can for yourself, if you like — it seems to me a some- 
what selfish view — as long as you don’t injure anybody 
else.” 

“ Whom do I injure ? ” he asked, looking at her defiantly 
in the face. 

‘ Margaret.” 

He dropped his eyes, and the defiance went suddenly 
out of his look and voice. 

“Injure her ? ” he said, in a very low tone. “Surely, 
you know, I wouldn’t do that — to save my life.” 

Janetta looked at him mutely. The words were a revela- 
tion. There was a pause, during which she heard, as in a 
dream, the sound of children’s voices and children’s feet 
along the passages of the house. Julian and Tiny were run- 
ning riot ; but she felt, for the time being, as if she had noth- 
ing to do with them : their interests did not touch her : she 
dwelt in a world apart. Hitherto Wyvis had stood, hat 
in hand, as if he were ready to go at a moment’s notice ; 
but now he changed his attitude. He seated himself de- 
terminedly, put down his hat, and looked back at her. 

“ Well,” he said, “ I see that I must explain myself if I 
mean to make my peace with you, Janetta. I am, perhaps, 
not so bad as you think me. I have not mentioned to 
Miss Adair that Julian’s mother is alive, because I consider 
myself a free man. Julian’s mother, once my wife, has 
divorced me, and is, I believe, on the point of marrying 
again. Surely in that case I am free to marry too.” 

“ Divorced you ? ” Janetta repeated, with dilating eyes. 

“ Yes, divorced me. She has gone out to America and 
managed it there. It is easy enough in some of the States 
to get divorced from an absent wife or husband, as no 
doubt you know. Incompatibility of temper was the 
alleged reason. I believe she is going to marry a Chicago 
man — something in pork.” 

“ And you are legally free ? ” 


192 


A TRUE FRIEND, 


“ She says so. I fancy there is a legal hitch somewhere, 
but I have not yet consulted my lawyers. We were 
married by the Catholic rite in France, and the Catholic 
Church will probably consider us married still. But Mar- 
garet is not a Catholic — nor am I.” 

“ And you think,” said Janetta, very slowly, “ of marry- 
ing Margaret?” 

He looked up at her and laughed, a little uneasily. 

“ You think she won’t have me ? ” # 

“I don’t know. I think you don’t know her yet, 
Wyvis.” 

“ I dare say not,” said her cousin. Then he broke out 
in quite a different tone : “ No wonder I don’t ; she’s a 
perpetual revelation to me. I never saw anything like her 
— so pure, so spotless, so exquisite. It’s like looking at a 
work of art — a bit of delicate china, or a picture by Francia 
or Guido. Something holy and serene about her — some- 
thing that sets her apart from the ordinary world. I can’t 
define it : but it’s there. I feel myself made of a coarse, 
common clay in her presence : I want to go down on my 
knees and serve her like a queen. That’s how I feel about 
Margaret.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Janetta, “ my princess of dreams. That is 
what I used to call her. That is what I — used to feel.” 

“ Don’t you feel it now?” said Wyvis, sitting up and 
staring at her. 

Janetta hesitated. “ Margaret is my dear friend, and I 
love her. But I am older — perhaps I can’t feel exactly in 
that way about her now.” 

“You talk as if you were a sexagenarian,” said Wyvis, 
exploding into genial laughter. He looked suddenly bright- 
er and younger, as if his outburst of emotion had wonder- 
fully relieved him. “ I am much older than you, and yet 
I see her in the same light. What else is there to say 
about her ? She is perfect — there is not much to discuss 
in perfection.” 

“ She is most lovely — most sweet,” said Janetta, warmly. 
“ And yet — the very things you admire may stand in your 
way, Wyvis. She is very innocent of the world. And if 
you have won her — her — affection before you have told 
her your history ” 

“ You think this wretched first marriage of mine will 
stand in the way ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


193 


u I do. With Margaret and with her parents.” 

Wyvis frowned again. “ I had better make sure of her 
— marry her at once, and tell her afterwards,” he said. 
But perhaps he said it only to see what Janetta would 
reply. 

“ You would not do that, Wyvis?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ But you want to be worthy of her ? ” 

“ I shall never be that, so it’s no good trying.” 

“ She would never forgive you if you married her with- 
out telling her the truth.” 

Wyvis laughed scornfully. “You know nothing about 
it. A woman will forgive anything to the man she loves.” 

“ Not a meanness ! ” said the girl, sharply. 

“ Yes, meanness, deceit, lies, anything — so long as it 
was done for her sake.” 

“ I don’t believe that would be the case with Margaret. 
Once disgust her, and you lose her love.” 

“ Then she can’t have much to give,” retorted Wyvis. 

Janetta was silent. In her secret heart she did not think 
that Margaret could love very deeply — that, indeed, she 
had not much to give. 

“Well, what’s the upshot?” said her cousin, at last, in 
a dogged tone. “ Are you satisfied at last? ” 

“ I shall be better satisfied when you make things plain 
to the Adairs. You have no right to win Margaret’s heart 
in this secret way. You blamed Cuthbert for making love 
to Nora. It is far worse for you to do it to Margaret 
Adair.” 

“ I am so much beneath her, am I not ? ” said Wyvis, 
with a sneer. And then he once more spoke eagerly. “ I 
am beneath her : I am as the dust under her feet. Don’t 
you think I know that ? I’ll tell you what, Janetta, when 
I first saw her and spoke to her — here, in this room, if you 
remember — I thought that she was like a being from 
another world. I had never seen anyone like her. She is 
the fairest, sweetest of women, and I would not harm her 
for the world.” 

“ I don’t know whether I ought even to listen to you,” 
said Janetta, in a troubled voice and with averted head. 
“ You know, many people would say that you were in 
7 the wrong altogether — that you were not free ” 

“ Then they would say a lie 1 I am legally free, I believe, 

13 


194 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


and morally free, I am certain. I thank God for it. I 
have suffered enough.” 

He looked so stern, so uncompromising, that Janetta 
hastened to take refuge in concrete facts. 

“ But you will tell Margaret everything? ” 

“ In my own good time.” 

“ Do promise me that you will not marry her without 
letting her know — if ever it comes to a talk of your 
marriage.” 

“ If ever ? It will come very soon, I hope. But I’ll 
promise nothing. And you must not make mischief.” 

“ I am like you — I will promise nothing.” 

“ I shall never forgive you, if you step between Mar- 
garet and me,” said Wyvis. 

“ I shall never step between you, I hope,” said Janetta, 
in a dispirited tone. “ But it is better for me to promise 
nothing more.” 

Wyvis shrugged his shoulders, as if he thought it useless 
to argue with her. She was sorry for the apparently un- 
friendly terms on which they seemed likely to part ; and 
it was a relief to her when, as they were saying good-bye, 
he looked into her face rather wistfully and said, “ Wish 
me success, Janetta, after all.” 

“ I wish you every happiness,” she said. But whether 
that meant success or not it would have been hard to say. 

She saw him take his departure, with little Julian cling- 
ing to his hand, and then she set about her household 
duties in her usual self-contained and steadfast way. But 
her heart ached sadly — she did not quite know why — and 
when she went to bed that night she lay awake for many 
weary hours, weeping silently, but passionately, over the 
sorrow that she foresaw for her dearest friends, and, 
perhaps, also for herself. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A BIG BRIBE. 

It seemed to Janetta as if she had almost expected to see 
Lady Caroline Adair drive up to her door about four 
o’clock next day, in the very victoria wherein the girl had 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


X 9S 

once sat side by side with Margaret’s mother, and from 
which she had first set eyes on Wyvis Brand. She had 
expected it, and yet her heart beat faster, and her color 
went and came, as she disposed of her pupils in the little 
dining-room, and met her visitor just as she crossed the 
hall. 

“ Can I speak to you for five minutes, Miss Colwyn ? ” 
said Lady Caroline, in so suave a voice that for a moment 
Janetta felt reassured. Only for a moment, however. 
When she had shut the drawing-room door, she saw that 
her visitor’s face was for once both cold and hard. Janet- 
ta offered a chair, and Lady Caroline took it, but without 
a word of thanks. She had evidently put on the “ fine 
lady ” manner, which Janetta detested from her heart. 

“ I come to speak on a very painful subject,” said Lady 
Caroline. Her voice was pitched a little higher than 
usual, but she gave no other sign of agitation. “ You were 
at Lady Ashley’s garden party the day before yesterday I 
believe ? ” 

Janetta bowed assent. 

“ May I ask if you observed anything remarkable in my 
daughter’s behavior ? You are supposed to be Margaret’s 
friend : you must have noticed what she was doing all the 
afternoon.” 

“ I do not think that Margaret could behave unsuitably,” 
said Janetta, suddenly flushing up. 

“ I am obliged to you for your good opinion of my daugh- 
ter. But that is not the point. Did you notice whether 
she was talking or walking a great deal with one person, 
or ” 

“ Excuse me, Lady Caroline,” said Janetta, “ but I did 
not spend the afternoon in watching Margaret, and I am 
quite unable to give you any information on the subject.” 

“ I really do not see the use of beating about the bush,” 
said Lady Caroline, blandly. “You must know perfectly 
well to what I refer. Mr. Wyvis Brand is a connection of 
yours, I believe. I hear on all sides that he and my 
daughter were inseparable all the afternoon. Greatly to 
my astonishment, I confess.” 

“ Mr. Brand is a second cousin of mine, and his brother 
is engaged to my half-sister,” said Janetta ; “ but I have 
nothing to do with his acquaintance with Margaret.” 

“ Indeed ! ” exclaimed Lady Caroline. She put up her 


196 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


eye-glass, and carefully inspected Janetta from head to 
foot. “ Nothing to do with their acquaintance, you say l 
May I ask, then, where my daughter met Mr. Brand ? Not 
in my house, I think.” 

Janetta gave a slight start. She had for the moment 
utterly forgotten that it was in Gwynne Street that Wyvis 
Brand and Margaret had first met. 

“ I beg your pardon : I forgot,” she said. 11 Of course 
— Margaret no doubt told you — she came here one day for 
her singing-lesson, and Mr. Brand called for his little boy. 
It was the first time they had seen each other.” 

“ And how often have they met here since, may I ask ? 99 

“Never again, Lady Caroline.” 

“ I was of course to blame in letting my daughter go out 
without a chaperon,” said Lady Caroline, disagreeably. 
“ I never thought of danger in this quarter, certainly. I 
can quite appreciate your motive, Miss Colwyn. No doubt 
it would be very pleasant for you if Margaret were to marry 
your cousin ; but we have prejudices that must be con- 
sulted.” 

“ I hope you did not come here meaning to insult me,” 
said Janetta, starting to her feet ; “ but I think you cannot 
know what you are saying, Lady Caroline. I want my 
cousin to marry your daughter ? I never thought of such 
a thing — until yesterday ! ” 

“And what made you think of it yesterday, pray? 
Please let us have no heroics, no hysterics : these exhibi- 
tions of temper are so unseemly. What made you think 
so yesterday ? ” 

“ Mr. Brand came here,” said Janetta, suddenly growing 
very white, “ and told me that he cared for Margaret. I 
do not know how they had met. He did not tell me. He 
— he — cares very much for her.” 

“ Cares for her ! What next ? He came here — when ? 
At Margaret’s lesson-time, I suppose ? ” 

She saw from Janetta’s face that her guess was correct. 

“ I need hardly say that Margaret will not come here 
again,” said Lady Caroline, rising and drawing her laces 
closely around her. “ There is the amount due to you, 
Miss Colwyn. I calculated it before I came out, and I 
think you will find it all right. There is one more ques- 
tion I must really ask before I go : there seems some 
uncertainty concerning the fate of Mr. Brand’s first wife ; 
perhaps you can tell me whether she is alive or dead ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


197 


Poor Janetta scarcely knew what to say. But she told 
herself that truth was always best. 

“I believe he — he- — is divorced from her,” she stam- 
mered, knowing full well how very condemnatory her 
words must sound in Lady Caroline’s ear. They certainly 
produced a considerable effect. 

“ Divorced ? And you introduced him to Margaret? 
Of course I know that a divorce is often received in society, 
and so on, but I always set my face against the prevalent 
lax views of marriage, and I hoped that I had brought up 
my daughter to do the same. I suppose ” — satirically — 
“ you did not think it worth while to tell Margaret this 
little fact ? ” 

“ I did not know it then,” Janetta forced herself to say. 

“ Indeed ? ” Lady Caroline’s “ indeed ” was very crush- 
ing. “ Well, either your information or your discretion 
must have been very much at fault. I must say, Miss 
Polehampton jiow strikes me as a woman of great discrimi- 
nation of character. I will say good-morning, Miss Col- 
wyn, and I think the acquaintance between my daughter 
and yourself had better be discontinued. It has certainly 
been, from beginning to end, an unsuitable and disastrous 
friendship.” 

“ Before you go, Lady Caroline, will you kindly take 
the envelope away that you have left upon the table ? ” 
said Janetta, as haughtily as Lady Caroline herself could 
have spoken. “ I certainly shall not take money from you 
if you believe such evil things of me. I have known nothing 
of the acquaintance between my cousin and Miss Adair ; 
but after what you have said I will not accept anything at 
your hands.” 

“ Then I am afraid it will have to remain on the table,” 
said Lady Caroline, as she swept out of the room, “ for I 
cannot take it back again.” 

Janetta caught up the envelope. One glance showed 
her that it contained a cheque. She tore it across and 
across, and was in time to place the fragments on the seat 
beside Lady Caroline, just before the carriage was driven 
away. She went back into the house with raised head and 
flaming cheeks, too angry and annoyed to settle down to 
work, too much hurt to be anything but restless and pre- 
occupied. The reaction did not set in for some hours ; 
but by six o’clock, when the children were all out of doors 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


08 

and her stepmother had gone to visit a friend, and Janetta 
had the house to herself, she lay down on a couch in the 
drawing-room with a feeling of intense exhaustion and 
fatigue. She was too tired almost to cry, but a tear welled 
up now and then, and was allowed to trickle quietly down 
her pale cheek. She was utterly wretched and depressed : 
the world seemed a dark place to her, especially when she 
considered that she had already lost one friend whom she 
had so long and so tenderly loved, and that she was not 
unlikely to lose another. For Wyvis might blame her — 
would blame her, probably — for what she had said to Lady 
Caroline. 

A knock at the front door aroused her. It was a knock 
that she did not know ; and she wondered at first whether 
one of the Adairs or one of the Brands were coming to 
visit her. She sat up and hastily rearranged her hair and 
dried her eyes. The charity orphan was within hearing 
and had gone to the door : it was she who presently flung 
open the door and announced, in awe-stricken tones — 

“ Sir Philip Hashley.” 

Janetta rose in some consternation. What did this visit 
portend ? Had he also come to reproach her for her con- 
duct to Margaret and Wyvis ? For she surmised — chiefly 
from the way in which she had seen him follow Margaret 
with his eyes at the garden-party — that his old love was 
not dead. 

He greeted her with his usual gentleness of manner, and 
sat down — not immediately facing her, as she was glad to 
think, scarcely realizing that he had at once seen the 
trouble in her face, and did not wish to embarrass her by 
a straightforward gaze. He gave her a little time in which 
to recover herself, too ; he spoke of indifferent subjects in 
an indifferent tone, so that when five minutes had elapsed 
Janetta was quite herself again, and had begun to speculate 
upon her chance of an engagement to sing at another 
musical party. 

“ I hope Lady Ashley is well,” she said, when at last a 
short pause came. 

“ Quite well, I thank you, and hoping to see you soon.* ? 

“ Oh, I am so grateful to you for saying that,” said 
Janetta, impulsively. “ I felt that I did not know whether 
she was satisfied with my singing or not. You know I arn 
a beginner.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


199 


“ I am sure I may say that she was perfectly satisfied,” 
said Sir Philip, courteously. “ But it was not in allusion 
to your singing that she spoke of wishing to see you 
again.” 

“ Lady Ashley is very kind,” said Janetta, feeling rather 
surprised. 

“ She would like to see more of you,” Sir Philip went on 
in a somewhat blundering fashion. “ She is very much 
alone : it would be a great comfort to her to have some 
one about her — some one whom she liked — some one who 
would be like a daughter to her ” 

A conviction as to the cause of his visit flashed across 
Janetta’s mind. He was going to ask her to become Lady 
Ashley’s companion ! With her usual quickness she forgot 
to wait for the proposition, and answered it before it was 
made. 

“ I wish I could be of some use to Lady Ashley,” she 
said, with the warm directness that Sir Philip had always 
liked. “ I have never seen any one like her — I admire her 
so much ! You will forgive me for saying so, I hope ? 
But I could not be spared from home to do anything for 
her regularly. If she wants a girl who can read aloud and 
play nicely, I think I know of one, but perhaps I had 
better ask Lady Ashley more particularly about the quali- 
fications required ? ” 

“ I did not say anything about a companion, did I ? ” 
said Sir Philip, with a queer little smile. “ Not in your 
sense of the word, at any rate.” 

“ Oh, I beg your pardon,” said Janetta, suddenly flush- 
ing scarlet : “ I thought — I understood ” 

“ You could not possibly know what I meant : I was not 
at all clear,” said Sir Philip, decidedly. “ I had some- 
thing else in my mind.” 

She looked at him inquiringly. He rose from his chair 
and moved about the room a little, with an appearance of 
agitation whith excited her deepest wonderment. He 
averted his eyes from her, and there was something like a 
flush on his naturally pale cheek. He seemed really 
nervous. 

“ Is there anything that I can do for Lady Ashley ? ” 
said Janetta, at last, when the silence had lasted as long 
as she thought desirable. 

“ There is something you can do for me.” 


200 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ For you, Sir Philip ? ” 

Sir Philip faced her resolutely. “ Forme, Miss Colwyn. 
If I tell you in very few words, will you forgive my abrupt- 
ness ? I don’t think it is any use beating about the bush 
in these matters. Will you be my wife ? That is what I 
came to say.” 

Janetta sat gazing at him with wide open eyes, as if she 
thought that he had taken leave of his senses. 

“ Don’t answer at once ; take time,” said Sir Philip, 
quickly. “ I know that I may perhaps have startled you : 
but I don’t want you to answer hastily. If you would like 
time for reflection, pray take it. I hope that reflection 
will lead you to say that you will at least try to like me 
enough to become my wife.” 

Janetta felt that he was very forbearing. Some men in 
his position would have thought it sufficient to indicate 
their choice, and then to expect the favored lady, especially 
if she were small and brown and plain, and worked for her 
bread, to fall at his feet in an ecstasy of joy. Janetta had 
never yet felt inclined to fall at anybody’s feet. But Sir 
Philip’s forbearance seemed to call for additional care and 
speed in answering him. 

“ But — I am sure Lady Ashley ” she began, and 

stopped. 

“ My mother will welcome you as a daughter,” said Sir 
Philip, gently. “She sends her love to you to-day, and 
hopes that you will consent to make me happy.” 

Janetta sat looking at her crossed hands. “ Oh, it is 
impossible — impossible,” she murmured. 

“ Why so ? If there is no obstacle in — in your own 
affections, it seems to me that it would be quite possible,” 
said Sir Philip, standing before her in an attitude of some 
urgency. “ But perhaps you have a dislike to me ? ” 

“ Oh, no.” She could not say more — she could not look 
up. 

“ I think I could make your life a happy one. You 
would not find me difficult. And you need have no 
further anxiety about your family ; we could find some 
way of managing that. You think as I do about so many 
subjects that I am sure we should be happy together.” 

It was a big bribe. That was how Janetta looked at it 
in that moment. She was certain that Sir Philip did not 
love her : she knew that she did not love Sir Philip ; and 


A TRUE FRIEND, 


201 


yet — it did seem that she might have a happy, easy, 
honored life if she consented to marry him — a life that 
would make her envied by many who had previously 
scorned her, and which would be, she hoped, productive 
of good to those whom she deeply loved. It was a bribe 
— a temptation. She was tempted, as any girl might have 
been, to exchange her life of toil and anxiety for one of 
luxury and peace ; but there was something that she would 
also have to lose — the clear, upright conscience, the love 
of truth, the conviction of well-doing. She could not keep 
these and become Sir Philip’s wife. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“changes must come.” 

She raised her eyes at length, and looked Sir Philip in the 
face. What a manly, honest, intelligent face it was ! 
One that a woman might well be proud of in her husband : 
the face of a man whom she might very safely trust. 
Janetta thought all this, as she made her answer. 

“ I am very sorry, Sir Philip, but I cannot be your 
wife.” 

“ You are answering me too hastily. Think again — take 
a day, a week — a month if you like. Don’t refuse without 
considering the matter, I beg of you.” 

Janetta shook her head. “ No consideration will make 
any difference.” 

“ I know that I am not attractive,” said her suitor, after 
a moment’s pause, in a somewhat bitter tone. “ I have 
not known how to woo — how to make pretty speeches and 
protestations — but for all that, I should make, I believe, 
a very faithful and loving husband. I am almost certain 
that I could make you happy, Janetta — if you will let me 
call you so — may I not try ? ” 

“ I should not feel that I was doing right,” said Janetta, 
simply. 

It was the only answer that could have made Sir Philip 
pause. He was quite prepared for hesitation and reluc- 
tance of a sort ; but a scruple of conscience was a thing 
that he respected. “ Why not ? ” he said, in a surprised 
tone. 


202 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ I have two or three reasons. I don’t think I can tell 
them to you, Sir Philip ; but they are quite impossible for 
me to forget.” 

“ Then I think you would be doing better to tell me,” 
said he, gently. He pulled a chair forward, sat down 
close to Janetta, and quietly laid his hand upon hers. 
<£ Now, what are they — these reasons ? ” he asked. 

Her seat was lower than his chair, and she was obliged 
to lift her eyes when she looked at him. His face com- 
pelled truthfulness. And Janetta was wise enough to know 
whom she might trust. 

“ If I speak frankly, will you forgive me ? ” she said. 

“ If you will speak frankly, I shall esteem it a great 
honor.” 

“ Then,” said Janetta, bravely, “ one of my reasons is 
this. You are most kind, and I know that you would be 
always good to me. I might even, as you say, be very 
happy after a time, but you do not — care for me — you do 
not love me, and ” — here she nearly broke down — “ and — 
I think you love some one else.” 

Sir Philip made a movement as if to take away his hand ; 
but he restrained himself and grasped hers still more 
closely. 

“ And who is it that I am supposed to care for ? ” he 
asked, in a light tone. 

“ Margaret,” Janetta answered, almost in a whisper. 
Then there was a silence, and this time Sir Philip did 
slowly withdraw his hand. But he did not look angry. 

“ I see,” he said, “ you are a friend of hers : you doubt- 
less heard about my proposition to her .concerning the 
Miss Polehampton business.” 

Janetta looked surprised. “No, I heard nothing of 
that. And indeed I heard very little from Margaret. I 
heard a good deal from Lady Caroline.” 

“ Ah, that woman ! ” cried Sir Philip, getting up and 
making a little gesture with his hand, expressive of con- 
tempt. “ She is worldly to the core. Did she tell you 
why Margaret refused me?” 

“ I did not know — exactly— that she had. Lady Caro- 
line said that it was a misunderstanding,” said Janetta, the 
startled look growing in her eyes. 

“ Just like her. She wanted to bring me back. Forgive 
me for speaking so hotly, but I am indignant with Lady 


A TRUE FRIEND, 


203 


Caroline Adair. She has done Margaret incalculable 
harm.” 

“ But Margaret herself is so sweet and generous and 
womanly,” said Janetta, watching his face carefully, “that 
she would recover from all that harm if she were in other 
hands.” 

“ Yes, yes ; I believe she would,” he answered, eagerly. 
“ It only needs to take her from her mother, and she 
would be perfect.” He stopped, suddenly abashed by 
Janetta’s smile. “ In her way, of course, I mean,” he 
added, rather confusedly. 

“Ah,” said Janetta, “ it is certain that I should never be 
perfect. And after Margaret ! ” 

“I esteem you, I respect you, much more than Mar- 
garet.” 

“ But esteem is not enough, Sir Philip. No, you do not 
love roe ; and I think — if I may say so — that you do love 
Margaret Adair.” 

Sir Philip reddened distressfully, and bit his lip. 

il I am quite sure, Miss Colwyn, that I have no thoughts 
of her that would do you an injustice. I did love Margaret 
— perhaps — but I found that I was mistaken in her. And 
she is certainly lost to me now. She loves another.” 

“ And you will love another one day, if you do not win 
her yet,” said Janetta, with decision. “ But you do not 
love me, and I certainly will never marry any one who 
does not. Besides — I should have a feeling of treachery 
to Margaret.” 

“ Which would be quite absurd and unwarrantable. 
Think of some better reason if you want to convince me. 
I hope still to make you believe that I do care for you.” 

Janetta shook her head. “ It’s no use, Sir Philip. I 
should be doing very wrong if I consented, knowing what 
J do. And besides, there is another reason. I cannot 
tell it to you, but indeed there is a good reason for my not 
marrying you.” 

“ Has it anything to do with position — or — or money, 
may I ask? Because these things are immaterial to me.” 

“ And I’m afraid I did not think about them,” said 
Janetta, with a frank blush, which made him like her better 
than ever. “ I ought to have remembered how great an 
honor you were doing me and been grateful ! — no, it was 
not that.” 


204 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ Then you care for some one else ? That is what 
it is.” 

“ I suppose it is,” said Janetta. 

And then a very different kind of blush began — a blush 
of shame, which dyed her forehead and ears and neck with 
so vivid a crimson hue that Sir Philip averted his eyes in 
honest sympathy. 

“ I’m afraid, then,” he said, ruefully, but kindly, “ that 
there’s nothing more to be said.” 

“ Nothing,” said Janetta, wishing her cheeks would 
cool. 

Sir Philip rose from his chair, and stood for a moment 
as if not knowing whether to go or stay. Janetta ros? 
too. 

“ If you were to change your mind ” he said. 

“This is a thing about which I could not possibly 
change my mind, Sir Philip.” 

“ I am sorry for it.” And then he took his leave, and 
Janetta went to her room to bathe her hot face and to 
wonder at the way in which the whirligig of Time brings 
its revenges. 

il Who would have thought it ? ” she said to herself, 
half diverted and half annoyed. “ When Miss Polehamp- 
ton used to lecture me on the difference of Margaret’s 
position and mine, and when Lady Caroline patronized me, 
I certainly never thought that I should be asked to become 
Lady Ashley. To take Margaret’s place ! I have a feel- 
ing — and I always had — that he is the proper husband 
for her, and that everything will yet come right between 
them. If I had said ‘ yes ’ — if I only could have said ‘ yes,’ 
for the children’s sake — I should never have got over the 
impression that Margaret was secretly reproaching me ! 
And as it is, she may reproach me yet. For Wyvis will 
not make her happy if he marries her : and she will not 
make Wyvis happy. And as for me, although he is, I sup- 
pose, legally divorced from his wife, I do not think that I 
could bear to marry him under such circumstances. But 
Margaret is different, perhaps, from me.” 

But the more she meditated upon the subject, the more 
was Janetta surprised at Margaret’s conduct. It seemed 
u dike her; it was uncharacteristic. Margaret might be 
for a time under the charm of Wyvis Brand’s strong indi- 
viduality ; but if she married him, a miserable awakening 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


205 


was almost sure to come to her at last. To exchange the 
smooth life, the calm and the luxury, of Helmsley Court 
for the gloom, the occasional tempests, and the general 
crookedness of existence at the Red House would be no 
agreeable task for Margaret. Of the two, Janetta felt that 
life at the Red House would be far the more acceptable to 
herself : she did not mind a little roughness, and she had 
a great longing to bring mirth and sunshine into the gloomy 
precincts of her cousin’s house. Janetta agreed with Lady 
Caroline as to the inadvisability of Margaret’s attachment 
to Wyvis far more than Lady Caroline gave her credit 
for. 

Lady Caroline was almost angrier than she had ever 
been in her life. She had had some disagreeable expe- 
riences during the last few hours. She had had visitors, since 
Lady Ashley’s garden-party, and amongst them had been 
numbered two or three of her intimate friends who had 
“ warned ” her, as they phrased it, against “ Margaret’s 
infatuation for that wild Mr. Brand.” Lady Caroline 
listened with her most placid smile, but raged inwardly. 
That her peerless Margaret should have been indiscreet ! 
She was sure that it was only indiscretion — nothing more 
— but even that was insufferable ! And what had Alicia 
Stone been doing ? Where had her eyes been ? Had she 
been bribed or coaxed into favoring the enemy ? 

Miss Stone had had a very unpleasant half-hour with her 
patroness that morning. It had ended in her going away 
weeping to pack up her boxes ; for Lady Caroline literally 
refused to condone the injury done to Margaret by any 
carelessness of chaperonage on Miss Stone’s part. “ You 
must be quite unfit for your post, Alicia,” she said, severe- 
ly. “ I am sorry that I shall not be able to recommend 
you for Lord Benlomond’s daughters. I never thought 
you particularly wise, but such gross carelessness I cer- 
tainly never did expect.” Now this was unfortunate for 
Alicia, who had been depending on Lady Caroline’s good 
offices to get her a responsible position as chaperon to 
three motherless girls in Scotland. 

Lady Caroline had as yet not said a single word to Mar- 
garet. She had not even changed her caressing manner 
for one of displeasure. But she had kept the girl with her 
all the morning, and had come out alone only because 
Margaret had gone for a drive with two maiden aunts who 


2o6 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


had just arrived for a week, and with whom Lady Caroline 
felt that she would be absolutely safe. She was glad that 
she had the afternoon to herself. It gave her an opportu- 
nity of seeing Janetta Colwyn, and of conducting some 
business of her own as well. For after seeing Janetta she 
ordered the coachman to drive to the office of her hus- 
band’s local solicitor, and in this office she remained for 
more than half an hour. The lawyer, Mr. Greggs by name, 
accompanied her with many smiles and bows to the 
carriage. 

“ 1 am sure we shall be able to do all that your ladyship 
Hushes,” he said, politely. “You shall have information 
in a day or two.” Whereat Lady Caroline looked satis- 
fied. 

It was nearly six o’clock when she reached home, and 
her absence had caused some astonishment in the house. 
Tea had been carried out as usual to the seats under the 
cedar-tree on the lawn, and Mr. Adair’s two sisters were 
being waited on by Margaret, fair and innocent-looking as 
usual, in her pretty summer gown. Lady Caroline’s 
white eyelids veiled a glance of sudden sharpness, as she 
noticed her daughter’s unruffled serenity. Margaret puz- 
zled her. For the first time in her life she wondered 
whether she had been mistaken in the girl, who had always 
seemed to reproduce so accurately the impressions that 
her teachers and guardians wished to make. Had it been 
all seeming ? and was Margaret mentally and morally an 
ugly duckling, hatched in a hen’s nest ? 

“ Dear mamma, how tired you look,” said the girl, 
softly. “ Some fresh tea is coming for you directly. I 
took Alicia a cup myself, but she would not let me in. 
She said she had a headache.” 

“ I dare say,” replied Lady Caroline, a little absently. 
“ At least — I will go to see her presently : she may be 
better before dinner. I hope you enjoyed your drive, dear 
Isabel.” 

Isabel was the elder of Mr. Adair’s two sisters. 

“ Oh, exceedingly. Margaret did the honors of her 
County so well : she seems to know the place by heart.” 

“ She has ridden with Reginald a orood deal,” said the 
mother. 

Margaret had seated herself beside the younger of the 
aunts — Miss Rosamond Adair — and was talking to her in 
a low voice. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


207 

“ How lovely she is ! ” Miss Adair murmured to her 
sister-in-law. “ She ought to marry well, Caroline.” 

“ I hope so,” said Lady Caroline, placidly. “ But I 
always think that Margaret will be difficult to satisfy.” It 
was not her role to confide in her husband’s sisters, of all 
people in the world. 

“ We heard something about Sir Philip Ashley : was 
there anything in it ? ” 

Lady Caroline smiled. “ I should have thought him 
everything that was desirable,” she said, “but Margaret 
did not seem to see it in that light. Poor dear Sir Philip 
was very much upset.” 

“ Ah, well, she may do better ! ” 

“ Perhaps so. Of course we should never think of 
forcing the dear child’s inclinations,” said Lady Caroline. 

And yet she was conscious that she had laid her hand on 
a weapon with which she meant to beat down Margaret’s 
inclinations to the ground. But it was natural to her to 
talk prettily. 

Wheels were heard at that moment coming up the drive. 
Lady Caroline, raising her eyes, saw that Margaret started 
as the sound fell upon her ear. 

“ A bad sign ! ” she said to herself. “ Girls do not start 
and change color when nothing is wrong. Margaret used 
not to be nervous. I wonder how far that man went with 
her. She may be unconscious of his intentions — he may 
not have any ; and then she will have been made conspi- 
cuous for nothing ! I wish the Brands had stayed away 
for another year or two.” 

The sound of wheels had proceeded from a dog-cart in 
which Mr. Adair, after an absence of a fortnight, was 
driving from the station. In a very few minutes he had 
crossed the lawn, greeted his wife, sisters and daughter, 
and thrown himself lazily into a luxurious lounging-chair. 

“ Ah, this is delightful ! ” he said. “ London is terribly 
smoky and grimy _ at this time of year. And you all look 
charming — and so exactly the same as ever ! Nothing 
changes down here, does it, my Pearl ? ” 

He was stroking Margaret’s hand, which lay upon his 
knee, as he spoke. The girl colored and dropped her 
eyes. 

“ Changes must come to us all,” she said, in a low 
voice. 


208 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ A very trite remark, my dear,” said Lady Caroline, 
smiling, “ but we need not anticipate changes before they 
come. We are just as we were when you went away, Re- 
ginald, and nothing at all has happened.” 

She thought that Margaret looked at her oddly, but she 
did not care to meet her daughter’s eyes just then. Lady 
Caroline was not an unworldly woman, not a very conscien- 
tious one, or apt to set a great value on fine moral distinc- 
tions ; but she did regret just then that she had not im- 
pressed on her daughter more deeply the virtue of perfect 
truthfulness. 

“ By-the-by,” said Mr. Adair, “ I saw some letters on 
the hall table and brought them out with me. Will you 
excuse me if I open them ? Why — that’s the Brands’ 
crest.” 

Lady Caroline wished that he had left the words unsaid. 
Margaret’s face went crimson and then turned very pale. 
Her mother saw her embarrassment and hastened to relieve 
it. 

“ Margaret, dear, will you take Alicia my smelling salts ? 
I think they may relieve her headache. Tell her not to get 
up — I will come and see her soon.” 

And as Margaret departed, Mr. Adair with lifted eye- 
brows and in significant silence handed an envelope to his 
wife. She glanced at it with perfectly unmoved com- 
posure. It was what she had been expecting : a letter 
from Wyvis Brand asking for the hand of their daughter, 
Margaret Adair. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Margaret’s confession. 

Margaret heard nothing of her lover’s letter that night. 
It was not thought desirable that the tranquillity of the 
evening should be disturbed. Lady Caroline would have 
sacrificed a good deal sooner than the harmonious influ- 
ences of a well-appointed dinner and the passionless refine- 
ment of an evening spent with her musical and artistic 
friends. Mr. Adair’s sisters were women of cultured taste, 
and she had asked two gentlemen to meet them, therefore 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


209 


it was quite impossible (from her point of view) to discuss 
any difficult point before the morning. Margaret, who 
knew pretty well what was coming, spent a rather feverish 
half-hour in her room before the ringing of the dinner-bell, 
expecting every minute that her mother would appear, or 
that she would be summoned to a conference with her 
father in the library. But when the dinner hour approached 
without any attempt at discussion of the matter, and she 
perceived that it was to be left until the morrow, it must 
be confessed that she drew a long breath of relief. She 
was quite sufficiently well versed in Lady Caroline’s tactics 
to appreciate the force and wisdom of this reserve. “ It 
is so much better, of course,” she said to herself, as her 
maid dressed her hair, “ that we should not have any 
agitating scene just before dinner. I dare say I should cry 
— if they were all very grave and solemn I am sure I should 
cry ! — and it would be so awkward to come down with red 
eyes. And, of course, I could not stay upstairs to-night. 
Perhaps mamma will come to me to-night when every one 
is gone.” 

And armed with this anticipation, she went downstairs, 
looking only a little more flushed than usual, and able to 
bear her part in the conversation and the amusements as 
easily as if no question as to her future fate were hanging 
undecided in the air. 

But Lady Caroline did not stay when she visited Mar- 
garet that night as usual in her pretty room. She caressed 
and kissed her with more than customary warmth, but she 
did not attempt to enter into conversation with her in 
spite of the soft appeal of Margaret’s inquiring eyes. “ My 
dear child, I cannot possibly stay with you to-night,” she 
said. “Your Aunt Isabel has asked me to go into her 
room for a few minutes. Good-night, my own sweetest : 
you looked admirable to-night in that lace dress, and your 
singing was simply charming. Mr. Bevan was saying 
that you ought to have the best Italian masters. Good- 
night, my darling,” and Margaret was left alone. 

She was a little disturbed— a little, not very much. She 
was not apt to be irritable or impatient, and she had great 
confidence in her parents’ love for her. She had never 
realized that she lived under a yoke. Everything was 
made so smooth and easy that she imagined that she had 
only to express her will in order to have it granted. That 

14 


210 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


there might be difficulties she foresaw : her parents might 
hesitate and parley a good deal, but she had not the slight- 
est fear of overcoming their reluctance in course of time. 
She had always been a young princess, and nobody had 
ever seriously combated her will. 

“ I am sure that if I am resolute enough I shall be 
allowed to do as I choose,” she said to herself ; and pos- 
sibly this was true enough. But Margaret had never yet 
had occasion to measure her resolution against that of her 
father and mother. 

She went to bed and to sleep, therefore, quite peacefully, 
and slept like a child until morning, while Wyvis Brand 
was frantically pacing up and down his old hall for the 
greater part of the night, and Janetta was wetting her pillow 
with silent tears, and Philip Ashley, sleepless like these 
others, vainly tried to forget his disappointment in the peru- 
sal of certain blue-books. Margaret was the cause of all 
this turmoil of mind, but she knew nothing of it, and most 
certainly did not partake in it. 

She suspected that she was to be spoken to on the sub- 
ject of Mr. Brand’s letter, when, after breakfast, next 
morning, she found that her father was arranging to take 
his sisters and Miss Stone for a long drive, and that she 
was to be left alone with her mother. Lady Caroline had 
relented, so far as Alicia was concerned. It would not 
look well, she had reflected, to send away her own kins- 
woman in disgrace, and although she still felt exceedingly 
angry with Alicia, she had formally received her back into 
favor, cautioning her only not to speak to Margaret about 
Wyvis Brand. When every one was out of the way Lady 
Caroline knew that she could more easily have a conversa- 
tion with her daughter, and Margaret was well aware of 
her intent. The girl looked mild and unobservant as usual, 
but she was busily engaged in watching for danger-signals. 
Her father’s manner was decidedly flurried : so much was 
evident to her : the very way in which he avoided her eye 
and glanced uneasily at her mother spoke volumes to Mar- 
garet. It did not surprise her to see that Lady Caroline’s 
face was as calm, her smile as sweet as ever : Lady Caroline 
always masked her emotion well ; but there was still some- 
thing visible in her eyes (which, in spite of herself, would 
look anxious and preoccupied) that made Margaret uncom- 
fortable. Was she going to have a fight with her parents ? 
She hoped not : it would be quite too uncomfortable ! 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


2 1 1 


“ Come here, darling,” said Lady Caroline, when the 
carriage had driven away ; “ come to my morning-room 
and talk to me a little. I want you? ” 

Margaret faintly resisted. “ It is my practicing time, 
mamma.” 

“ But if I want you, dearest ” 

“ Oh, of course it does not matter,” said Margaret, with 
her usual instinct of politeness. “ I would much rather 
talk than practice.” 

The mother laid her hand lightly within her tall daugh- 
ter’s arm, and led her towards the morning-room, a place 
of which she was especially fond in summer, as it was cool, 
airy, and looked out upon a conservatory full of blossom- 
ing plants. Lady Caroline sank down upon a low soft 
couch, and motioned to the girl to seat herself beside her ; 
then, possessing herself of one of Margaret’s hands and 
stroking it gently, she said with a smile — 

“ You have another admirer, Margaret? ” 

This opening differed so widely from any which the girl 
had expected that she opened her eyes with a look of 
intense surprise. 

“ Why should you be astonished, darling ? ” said Lady 
Caroline, with some amusement in her light tones. “ You 
have had a good many already, have you not ? And, by 
the by, you have had one or two very good offers, Marga- 
ret, and you have refused everything. You must really 
begin to think a little more seriously of your eligible 
suitors ! This last one, however, is not an eligible one at 
all.” 

“ Who, mamma ? ” said Margaret, faintly. 

“ The very last man whom I should have expected to 
come forward,” said her mother. “ Indeed, I call it the 
greatest piece of presumption I ever heard of. Consider- 
ing that we are not on visiting terms, even.” 

“ Oh, mamma, do tell me who you mean ! ” 

Lady Adair arched her pencilled eyebrows over this 
movement of impatience. “ Really, Margaret, darling ! 
But I suppose I must be lenient : a girl naturally desires 
to hear about her suitors ; but you must not interrupt me 
another time, love. It is that most impossible man, Mr. 
Brand of the Red House.” 

Margaret’s face flushed from brow to chin. “ Why 
impossible, mamma? ” 


212 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ Dear child ! You are so unworldly ! But there is a 
point at which unworldliness becomes folly. We must stop 
short of that. Poor Mr. Brand is, for one thing, quite out 
of society." 

“ Not in Paris or London, mamma. Only in this place, 
where people are narrow and bigoted and censorious." 

“ And where, unfortunately, he has to live," said Lady 
Caroline, with gentle firmness. “ It matters to us very 
little what they say of him in Paris or London : it matters 
a great deal what the County says." 

“ But if the County could be induced to take him up ! " 
said Margaret, rather breathlessly. “ He was at Lady 
Ashley’s the other day, and he seemed to know a great 
many people. And if you — we — received him, it would 
make all the difference in the world." 

“ Oh, no doubt we could float him if we chose," said 
Lady Caroline, indifferently ; “ but would it really be worth 
the trouble ? Even if he went everywhere, dear, he would 
not be a man that I should care to cultivate ; he has not 
a nice reputation at all." 

“ Nobody knows of anything wrong that he has done," 
Margaret averred, with burning cheeks. 

“ Well, I have heard of one or two things that are not 
to his credit. I am told that he drinks and plays a good 
deal, that his language to his groom is something awful, 
and that he makes his poor little boy drunk every night.” 
In this version had Wyvis Brand’s faults and weaknesses 
gone forth to the world near Beaminster ! “ Then he has 

very disagreeable people to visit him, and his mother is 
not in the least a lady — a publican’s daughter, and not, I 
am afraid, quite respectable in her youth." Lady Caroline’s 
voice sank to a whisper. “ Some very unpleasant things 
have been said about Mrs. Brand. Nobody calls on her. 
I am very sorry for her, poor thing, but what could one 
do ? I would not set foot in the house while she was in it 
— I really would not. Mr. Brand ought to send her away." 

“ But what has she done, mamma?’’ 

“There is no necessity for you to hear, Margaret. I 
like your mind to be kept innocent of evil, dear. Surely 
it is enough if I tell you that there is something wrong." 

The girl was silent for a minute or two : she was begin- 
ning to feel abashed and ashamed. It was in a very low 
voice that she said at last — 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


213 


“ Mr. Brand would probably find another home for her 
if he married.” 

“ Oh, most likely. But I do not know that what he 
would do affects us particularly. He is quite a poor man : 
even is family is not very good, although it is an old one, 
and it has been the proverb of the country-side for dissipa- 
tion and extravagance for upwards of a century.” 

“ But if he had quite reformed,” Margaret murmured. 

“ My darling, what difference would it make ? I am sure 
I do not know why we discuss the matter : it is a little too 
ridiculous to speak of it seriously. Your father will give 
Mr. Wyvis Brand his answer, and in such a way that he 
will not care to repeat his presumptuous and insolent pro- 
posal, and there will be an end of it. I hope, dearest, you 
have not been annoyed by the man ? I heard something 
of his pursuing you with his attentions at Lady Ashley’s 
party.” 

“ Mamma,” said Margaret, in a tragic tone, “ this must 
not go on. You must not speak to me as you are doing 
now. You do not understand the position of affairs at all. 
I ” 

“I beg your pardon, darling — one moment. Will you 
give me that palm-leaf fan from the mantel-piece ? It is 
really rather a hot rooming. Thanks, dear. What was it 
you were saying?” 

Lady Caroline knew the value of an adroit interruption. 
She had checked the flow of Margaret’s indignation for the 
moment, and was well aware that the girl would not pro- 
bably begin her speech in quite the same tone a second 
time. At the same time she saw that she had given her 
daughter a momentary advantage. Margaret did not reseat 
herself after handing her mother the fan — she remained 
standing, a pale, slender figure, somewhat impressive in 
the shadows of the half-darkened room, with hands 
clasped and head slightly lifted as if in solemn protest. 

“Mamma,” she began, in a somewhat subdued voice, 
“ I must tell you. Mr. Brand spoke to me before he wrote 
to papa. I told him to write.” 

Lady Caroline put her eyeglass and looked curiously at 
her daughter. “You told him to write, my dear child? 
And how did that come about ? Don’t you know that 
it was equivalent to accepting him ? ” 

“ Yes, mamma. And I did accept him.” 


214 


A TRUK FRIEND. 


“ My dear Margaret ! ” The tone was that of pitying 
contempt. “ You must have been out of your senses ! 
Well, we can easily rectify the matter — that is one good 
thing. Why, my darling, when did he find time to speak 
to you ? At Lady Ashley’s ? ” 

“ In the park, near the forget-me-not brook,” murmured 
Margaret, with downcast eyes. 

“ He met you there ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ More tnan once ? And you allowed him to meet you ? 
Oh, Margaret ! ” 

Lady Caroline’s voice was admirably managed. The 
gradual surprise, shocked indignation, and reproach of her 
tones made the tears come to Margaret’s eyes. 

“ Indeed, mamma,” she said, “ I am very sorry. I did 
not know at first — at least I did not think — that I was 
doing what you would not like. He used to meet me 
when I went into the park, sometimes — when Alicia was 
reading. Alicia did not know. And he was very nice, 
he was always nice mamma. He told me a great deal 
about himself — how discontented he was with his life, and 
how I might help him to make it better. And I should 
like to help him, mamma; it seems to me it would be a 
good thing to do. And if you and papa would help him 
too, he might take quite a different position in the County.” 

“ My poor child ! ” said Caroline. “ My poor deluded 
child ! ” 

She lay silent for a few moments, thinking how to frame 
the argument which she felt was most likely to appeal to 
Margaret’s tenderer feelings. “ Of course,” she said at 
last, very slowly, “ of course, if he told you so .much about 
his past life, he told you about his marriage — about that 
little boy’s mother.” 

He said that he had been very unhappy. I do not 
think,” said Margaret with simplicity, “ that he loved his 
first wife as he loves me.” 

“ No doubt he made you think so, dear. His first wife, 
indeed ! Did he tell you that his first wife was alive? ” 

“ Mamma ! ” 

“ He says he is divorced from her,” said Lady Caroline, 
sarcastically, “ and seems to think it is no drawback to 
have been divorced. I and your father think differently. 
I do not mean there is any legal obstacle ; but he took a 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


215 


very unfair advantage of your youth and inexperience by 
never letting you know that fact — or, at any rate, letting 
us know it before he paid you any attention. That stamps 
him as not being a gentleman, Margaret.” 

“ Who told you, mamma ? ” 

“ His cousin and your friend,” said Lady Caroline, 
coldly : “ Miss Janetta Colwyn.” 

Margaret’s color had fluctuated painfully for the last 
few minutes ; she now sat down on a chair near the open 
window, and turned so pale that her mother thought her 
about to faint. Lady Caroline was on her feet immediately, 
and began to fan her, and to hold smelling salts to her 
nostrils ; but in a very short time the girl’s color returned, 
and she declined any further remedies. 

“ I did not know this,” she said at last, rather piteously, 
“ but it is too late to make any difference, mamma, it 
really is. I love Wyvis Brand, and he loves me. Surely 
you won’t refuse to let us love one another ? ” 

She caught her mother’s hand, and Lady Caroline put 
her arms around her daughter’s shoulders and kissed her 
as fondly as ever. 

“ My poor dear, romantic child ! ” she said. “ Do you 
think we can let you throw yourself quite away ? ” 

“ But I have given my promise ! ” 

“Your father must tell Mr. Brand that you cannot keep 
your promise, my darling. It is quite out of the question.” 

And Lady Caroline thought she had settled the whole 
matter by that statement. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

IN REBELLION. 

Janetta was naturally very anxious to know something 
of the progress of affairs between Wyvis and Margaret, 
but she heard little for a rather considerable space of time. 
She was now entirely severed from Helmsley Court, and 
had no correspondence with Margaret. As the summer 
holidays had begun, little Julian did not come every morn- 
ing to Gwynne Street, but Tiny and Curly were invited to 
spend a month at the Red House in charge of Nora, who 


216 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


was delighted to be so much with Cuthbert, and who had 
the power of enlivening even the persistent gloom of Mrs. 
Brand. Janetta was thus obliged to live a good deal at 
home, and Wyvis seemed to shun her society. His 
relations at home had heard nothing of his proposal for 
Margaret’s hand, and Janetta, like them, did not know 
that it had ever been actually made. Another event drove 
this matter into the background for some little time — for it 
was evidently fated that Janetta should never be quite 
at peace. 

Mrs. Colwyn summoned her rather mysteriously one 
afternoon to a conference in her bedroom. 

“ Of course I know that you will be surprised at what 
I am going to say, Janetta,” began the good lady, with 
some tossings of the head and flourishings of a handker- 
chief which rather puzzled Janetta by their demonstra- 
tiveness ; “ and no doubt you will accuse me of want 
of respect of your father’s memory and all that sort of 
thing ; though I’m sure I don’t know why, for he married 
a second time, and I am a young woman still and not 
without admirers.” 

“Do you mean,” said Janetta, “that you think ?” 

She could go no further : she stood and looked helplessly 
at her stepmother. 

“ Do I think of marrying again ? Well, yes, Janetta, 
I do ; and more for the children’s good than for my own. 
Poor things, they need a father : and I am tired of this 
miserable, scraping, cheeseparing life that you are so fond 
of. I have been offered a comfortable home and provision 
for my childien, and I have decided to accept it.” 

“ So soon ! ” 

“It will not be announced just yet, of course. Not 
until the end of the summer. But it is really no use to 
wait.” 

Janetta stood pale and wide-eyed : she did not dare to 
let herself speak just yet. Mrs. Colwyn grew fretful under 
what she felt to be silent condemnation. 

“ I should like to know what harm it can do to you? ” 
she said. “ I’ve waited quite as long as many widows do, 
and toiled and suffered more than most. Poor James was 
the last man to grudge me a little rest and satisfaction as 
a reward for all that I have undergone. My own children 
will not repine, I am sure, and I look to you, Janetta, to 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


217 


explain to them how much for their good it will be, and 
how advantageous for them all.” 

“You can hardly expect me to try to explain away an 
act of disrespect to my father’s memory,” said Janetta, 
coldly. 

“ There is no disrespect to the dead in marrying a 
second time.” 

“ After a decent interval.” 

Mrs. Cohvyn burst into tears. “ It’s the first time in my 
life that I’ve ever been told that I was going to do a thing 
that wasn’t decent,” she moaned. “And when it’s all for 
his dear children’s good, too ! Ah, well ! I’ll give it up, 
I’ll say no, and we will all starve and go down into the 
grave together, and then perhaps you will be satisfied.” 

“ Mamma, please do not talk such nonsense. Who is it 
that has asked you to be his wife ? ” 

“ Dr. Burroughs,” said Mrs. Colwyn, faintly. 

Janetta uttered an involuntary exclamation. Dr. Bur- 
roughs was certainly a man of sixty-five, but he was strong 
and active still ; he had a good position in the town, and 
a large private income. His sister, who kept his house, 
was a good and sensible woman, and Dr. Burroughs him- 
self was reputed to be a sagacious man. His fondness 
for children was well known, and a little thought convinced 
Janetta that his choice of a wife had been partly determined 
by his liking for Tiny and Curly, to say nothing of the 
elder children. He had been a close friend of Mr. 
Colwyn, and it was not likely that Mrs. Colwyn’s infirmity 
had remained a secret from him : he must have learned it 
from common town-talk long ago. Angry as Janetta was, 
and petrified with surprise, she could not but acknowledge 
in her heart that such a marriage was a very good one for 
Mrs. Colwyn, and would probably be of immense advan- 
tage to the children. And the old physician and his sister 
would probably be able to keep Mrs. Colwyn in check : 
Janetta remembered that she had heard of one or two 
cases of intemperance which had been cured under his 
roof. As soon as she could get over her intense feeling 
that a slur was thrown on her father’s memory by this very 
speedy second marriage of his widow, her common-sense 
told her that she might be very glad. But it was difficult 
to rid herself all at once of her indignation of what she 
termed “ this indecent haste.” 


2l8 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


She made an effort to calm Mrs. Colwyn’s fretful sobbing, 
and assured her with as much grace as she had at command 
that the marriage would not at all displease her if it took 
place at a somewhat later date. And she reflected that Dr. 
and Miss Burroughs might be depended upon not to violate 
conventionalities. Her own soreness with regard to the 
little affection displayed by Mrs. Colwyn to her late husband 
must be disposed of as best it might : there was no use in 
exhibiting it. 

And as Mrs. Colwyn had hinted, it fell to Janetta to 
inform the rest of the family of their mother’s intention, 
and to quell symptoms of indignation and discontent. After 
all, things might have been worse. The children already 
liked Dr. Burroughs, and soon reconciled themselves to 
the notion of living in a large, comfortable house, with a 
big garden, and unlimited treats and pleasures provided 
by their future stepfather and aunt. And when Janetta 
had had an interview with these two good people, her 
mind was considerably relieved. They were kind and 
generous ; and although she could not help feeling that 
Dr. Burroughs was marrying for the sake of the children 
rather than their mother, she saw that he would always be 
thoughtful and affectionate to her, and that she would 
probably have a fairly happy and luxurious life. One 
thing was also evident — that he would be master in his 
own house, as James Colwyn had never been. 

The marriage was to take place at Christmas, and the 
house in Gwynne Street was then to be let. Cuthbert and 
Nora began to talk of marrying at the same time, for 
Nora was somewhat violently angry at her mother’s pro- 
ceeding, and did not wish to go to Dr. Burroughs’ house. 
The younger members of the family would all, however, 
migrate to The Cedars, as Dr. Burroughs’ house was called ; 
and there Miss Burroughs was still to maintain her sway. 
On this point Dr. Burroughs had insisted, and Janetta was 
thankful for it, and Miss Burroughs was quite able and 
willing to perform the duty of guardian not only to her 
brother’s step-children, but to her brother’s wife. 

“ And of course you will come to us, too, dear? ” Miss 
Burroughs said to Janetta. “ This will be your home 
always : Andrew particularly wished me to say so.” 

“ It is very kind of Dr. Burroughs,” said Janetta, grate- 
fully. “I have no claim on him at all: I am not Mrs. 
Colwyn’s daughter.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


219 


“As if that made any difference! James Colwyn was 
one of Andrew’s best friends, and for his sake, if for no 
other, you will be always welcome.” 

“I am very much obliged to you,” Janetta replied, “ and 
I shall be pleased to come to you now and then as a visi- 
tor ; but I have made up my mind that now — now that 
my duty seems to be done, I had better go out into the 
world and try to make a career for myself. I shall be 
happier at work than leading an idle, easy life. But 
please do not think me ungrateful — only I must get away.” 

And Miss Burroughs, looking into the girl’s worn face, 
and noticing the peculiar significance of her tone, refrained 
from pressing the point. She was sure from both that 
some hidden pain existed, that there was some secret 
reason why Janetta felt that she “ must get away.” She 
was anxious to help the girl, but she saw that it would be 
no true kindness to keep her in Beaminster against her 
will. 

These matters took some time to arrange, and it was 
while some of them were still pending that Janetta was 
startled by a visit from Margaret Adair. 

It was a sultry day towards the end of July, and Miss 
Adair looked for once hot and dusty. She was much thin- 
ner than she had been, and had a harassed expression 
which Janetta could not fail to remark. As she hurriedly 
explained, she had walked some little distance, leaving 
Alicia Stone at the Post Office, and it afterwards trans- 
pired, giving her mother the slip at a confectioner’s, in 
order to see Janetta once again 

“ It is very kind of you, dear,” said Janetta, touched, 
rather against her will, by so unwonted a proof of affec- 
tion. “ But I am afraid that Lady Caroline would not be 
pleased.” 

“ I know she would not,” said Margaret, a little bitterly. 
“ She did not want me to see any more of you. I told 
her how unjust it was to blame you, but she would not 
believe me.” 

“ It does not matter, Margaret, dear, I do not much 
mind.” 

“ I thought I should like to see you once again.” Mar- 
garet spoke with unusual haste, and almost in a breathless 
manner. “ I want to know if you would do something 
for me. You used to say you would do anything for me.” 

“ So I will, if I can.” 


220 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ We were going abroad in a few days. I don’t know 
where, exactly : they won’t tell me. They are angry with 
me, Janetta, and I can’t bear it,” cried Margaret, breaking 
suddenly into tears which were evidently very heartfelt, 
although they did not disfigure that fair and placid face of 
hers in the slightest degree ; they were never angry with 
me before, and it is terrible. They may take me 'away 
and keep me away for years, and I don’t know what to do. 
The only thing I can think of is to ask you to help me*, I 
want to send a message to Wyvis — I want to write to him 
if you will give him the letter.” 

“ But why do you not write him through the post ? ” 

“ Oh, because I promised not to post anything to him. 
Mamma said she must supervise my correspondence unless 
I promised not to write to him. And so I keep my word 
— but a few lines through you, Janet, darling, would not 
be breaking my word at all, for it would not be a letter 
exactly. And I want to arrange when I can see him 
again.” 

Janetta drew back a little. “ It would be breaking the 
spirit of your promise, Margaret. No, I cannot help you 
to do that.” 

“ Oh, Janetta, you would never be so hard as to refuse 
me ! I only want to tell Wyvis that I am true to him, and 
that I don’t mind what the world says one bit, because I 
know how people tell lies about him ! You know you 
always promised to stand by me and to be my best 
friend.” 

“ Yes, but I never promised to do a dishonorable action • 
for you,” said Janetta, steadily. 

Margaret started up, her face a-flame directly. 

“ How dare you say such a thing to me, Janetta? ” she 
exclaimed. 

“ I cannot help it, Margaret, you know that I am right. ” 

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then 
Margaret turned away with the mien of an insulted prin- 
cess. 

“ I was wrong to come. I thought that you would be 
true to the old bond of friendship between us. I shall 
never come to you again.” 

Poor Janetta’s heart was very tender, although her reso* 
lution was impregnable. She ran after Margaret, putting 
her hands on her arm, and imploring her with tears tc 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


221 


forgive her for her refusal. “ If it were only anything 
else, Margaret, dear ! If only you did not want me to do 
what your father and mother do not wish ! Don’t you see 
that you are trying to deceive them ? If you were" acting 
openly it would be a different thing ! Don’t be angry with 
me for wanting to do right ! ” 

“ I am not at all angry,” said Margaret, with stateliness. 
“ I am very disappointed, that is all. I do not see that I 
am deceiving anybody by sending a message to Wyvis. 
But I will not ask you again.” 

“ If only I could ! ” sighed Janetta, in deep distress and 
confusion of mind. But her anchor of truth and straight- 
forwardness was the thing of all others that she relied on 
for safety, and she did not let go her hold. In spite of 
Margaret’s cold and haughty displeasure, Janetta kissed 
her affectionately, and could not refrain from saying, 
“ Dear, I would do anything for you that I thought right. 
But don’t — don’t deceive your father and mother.” 

“ I will not, as you shall see,” returned Margaret, and 
she left the the house without again looking at her former 
friend. Janetta felt very bitterly, as she watched the 
graceful figure down the street, that the old friendship had 
indeed become impossible in its older sense. Her very 
faithfulness to the lines in which it had been laid down 
now made it an offence to Margaret. 

Janetta’s direct and straightforward dealing had the 
effect of driving Margaret, though chiefly out of perversity, 
to do likewise. Miss Adair was not accustomed to be 
withstood, and, during the unexpected opposition with 
which her wishes had been met, her mind had turned very 
often to Janetta with unswerving faith in her old friend’s 
readiness to help her at an emergency. 

In this faith she considered that she had been cruelly 
disappointed. And her mingled anger, shame, and sorrow 
so blinded her to the circumstances in which she stood, 
that she walked quietly up to Lady Caroline and Alicia 
Stone in Beaminster High Street, and did not think of 
hiding her escapade at all. 

l< My dearest child, where have you been ? ” cried Lady 
Caroline, who was always caressing, if inflexible. 

“ I have been to Janetta Colwyn’s, mamma,” said Mar- 
garet, imperturbably, “ to ask her to give a message to Mr. 
Brand.” 


222 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ Margaret ! Have you quite forgotten yourself? Oh, 
that unsuitable friendship of yours ! ” 

“ I don’t think you need call it unsuitable, mamma/’ 
Margaret rejoined, with a weary little smile. “ Janetta 
absolutely refused to give the message, and told me to 
obey my parents. I really do not see that you can blame 
her.” 

Lady Caroline replied only by a look of despair which 
spoke unutterable things, and then she walked onward to 
the spot where she had left the carriage. The three ladies 
drove home in complete silence. Lady Caroline was 
seriously displeased, Alicia curious, Margaret in rebellion 
and disgrace. The state of things was becoming very 
grave, for the whole tenor of life at Helmsley Court was 
disturbed, and Margaret’s father and mother wanted their 
daughter to be a credit and an ornament to them, not a 
cause of disturbance and irritation. Margaret had kept 
up a gallant fight : she had borne silence, cold looks, 
absence of caresses, with unwavering courage ; but she. 
began now to find the situation unendurable. And a little 
doubt had lately been creeping into her heart — was it all 
worth while ? IfWyvis Brand were really as undesirable 
a parti as he was represented to be, Margaret was not 
sure that her lot would be very happy as his wife. Hither- 
to she had maintained that the stories told about him, his 
habits and his position, were falsehoods. But if — she 
began to think — if they were true, and if a marriage with 
him would exclude her from the society to which she had 
been accustomed, was it worth while to fight as hard as 
she had done ? Perhaps, after all, her mother and her 
father were right. 

Lady Caroline, not knowing of these weaknesses in 
Margaret’s defence, was inclined for once to be more 
severe than caressing. She went straight to her husband 
when she entered the Court, and had a long conversation 
with him. Then she proceeded to Margaret’s room. 

“I have been talking to your father, Margaret,” she 
said coldly, “ and we are both very much distressed at the 
course which things are taking.” 

“ So am I, mamma,” said Margaret. 

“ Of course we cannot proceed in the mediaeval fashion, 
and lock you up in your own room until you are reason- 
able,” said Lady Caroline, with a faint smile. “ I should 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


223 


have thought that your own instinct as a lady would have 
precluded you from doing anything that would make it ne- 
cessary for us to lay any restraint upon you ; but to-day's 
occurrence really makes me afraid. You have promised 
not to write to Mr. Brand, I think ? ” 

“ Yes. But I meant to send him a little note to-day.” 

“ Indeed ? Then what I have to say is all the more 
necessary. We do not restrict you to any part of the 
house, but you must understand that when you come out 
of your own room, Margaret, you are never to be alone. 
Alicia will sit with you, if I am engaged. She will walk 
with you, if you wish to go out into the garden.* I have 
no doubt it will be a little unpleasant,” said Lady Caroline, 
with a slight, agreeable smile, “ to be constantly under 
surveillance, and of course it will last only until we leave 
home next week ; but in the meantime, my dear, unless 
you will give up your penchant for Mr. Brand, you must 
submit to be watched. You cannot be allowed to run off 
with messages to this man as if you were a milliner’s girl 
or a servant maid : we manage these matters differently.” 

And then Lady Caroline withdrew, though not too late 
to see the girl sink down into a large arm-chair and burst 
into a very unwonted passion of sobs and tears. 

“ So tiresome of Margaret to force one to behave in this 
absurd manner ! ” reflected Lady Caroline. “ So com- 
pletely out of date in modern days ! ” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE PLOUGHMAN’S SON. 

Two or three days after Margaret’s visit to Gwynne Street, 
Janetta availed herself of Mrs. Colwyn’s temporary absence 
in Miss Burroughs’ company to pay a visit to the Red 
House. Her anxiety to know what was occurring between 
Wyvis and Margaret had become almost uncontrollable 
and, although she was not very likely to hear much about 
it from Wyvis or his mother, she vaguely hoped to gather 
indications at least of the state of affairs from her cousin’s 
aspect and manners. 

It was plain that Wyvis was not in a happy mood. His 


224 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


brow was dark, his tone sarcastic ; he spoke roughly once 
or twice to his mother and to his little son. He evidently 
repented of his roughness, however, as soon as the words 
were out of his mouth, for he went over to Mrs. Brand’s 
side and kissed her immediately afterwards, and gave some 
extra indulgence to Julian by way of making up for his 
previous severity. Still the irritation of feeling existed, 
and could not be altogether repressed when he spoke ; and 
when he was silent he fell into a condition of gloom which 
was even more depressing than his sharpness. Janetta 
did her best to be cheerful and talkative to Mrs. Brand, and 
she fancied that he liked to listen ; for he sat on with them 
in the blue room long after Nora and Cuthbert had disap- 
peared into the garden and the children were romping in 
the wood. Certainly he did not say much to her, but he 
seemed greatly disinclined to move. 

After a time, Mrs. Brand and Janetta adjourned to the 
hall, which was always a favorite place of resort on summer 
evenings. Traces of the children’s presence made the 
rooms more cheerful than they used to be — to Janetta’s 
thinking. Tiny’s doll and Julian’s ball were more enliven- 
ing to the place than even Cuthbert’s sketches and Nora’s 
bunches of wild flowers. And here, too, Wyvis followed 
them in an aimless, subdued sort of way ; and, having 
asked and obtained permission to light a cigarette, he 
threw himself into a favorite chair, and seemed to listen 
dreamily, while Janetta held patient discourse with his 
mother on the ailments of the locality and the difficulty 
of getting the housework done. Janetta glanced at him 
from time to time ; he sat so quietly that she would have 
thought him sleeping but for the faint blue spirals of 
smoke that went up from his cigarette. It was six o’clock 
in the evening, and the golden lights and long shadows 
made Janetta long to be out of doors ; but Mrs. Brand 
had a nervous fear of rheumatism, and did not want to 
move. 

“ What is that ? ” said Wyvis, suddenly rousing him- 
self. 

Nobody else had heard anything. He strode suddenly 
to the door, and flung it open. Janetta heard the quaver- 
ing tones of the old man-servant, an astonished, enrap- 
tured exclamation from Wyvis himself ; and she knew — 
instinctively — what to expect. She turned round ; it was 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


22$ 

as she had feared. Margaret was there. Wyvis was lead- 
ing her into the room with the fixed look of adoration in 
his eyes which had been so much commented upon at 
Lady Ashley’s party. When she was present, he evident- 
ly saw none but her. Janetta rose quickly and with- 
drew a little into the back ground. She wished for 
a moment that she had not been there — and then it 
occurred to her that she might be useful by and by. But 
it was perhaps better for Margaret not to see her too soon. 
Mrs. Brand, utterly unprepared for this visit, not even 
knowing the stranger by sight, and, as usual, quite un- 
ready for an emergency, rose nervously from her seat and 
stood, timid, awkward, and anxious, awaiting an explan- 
ation. 

“ Mother, this is Margaret Adair,” said Wyvis, as quiet- 
ly as if his mother knew all that was involved in that very 
simple formula. He was still holding the girl by the hand 
and gazing in his former rapt manner into her face. It 
was not the look of a lover, to Janetta’s eye, half so much 
as the worship of a saint. Margaret embodied for Wyvis 
Brand the highest aspirations, the purest dreams of his 
youth. . 

As to Margaret, Janetta thought that she was looking 
exquisitely lovely. Her thinness added to the impression 
of ethereal beauty ; there was a delicacy about her ap- 
pearance which struck the imagination. Her color fluc- 
tuated ; her eyes shone like stars ; and her whole frame 
seemed a little tremulous, as if she were shaken by some 
strange and powerful emotion to her very soul. Her 
broad-brimmed straw hat, white dress, and long tan gloves 
belonged, as Janetta knew, only to her ordinary attire when 
no visitors were to be seen ; but simplicity of dress always 
seemed to garnish Margaret’s beauty, and to throw it into 
the strongest possible relief. She was sufficiently striking 
in aspect to frighten poor, timid Mrs. Brand, who was 
never happy when she found herself in the company of 
u fashionable ” people. But it was with a perfectly simple 
and almost childlike manner that Margaret drew her finger 
away from Wyvis’ clasp and went up to his mother, hold- 
ing out both hands as if in appeal for help. 

“ I am Margaret,” she said. “ I ought not to have 
come ; but what could I do ? They are going to take me 

15 


226 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


away from the the Court to-morrow, and I could not go 
without seeing you and Wyvis first.” 

“ Wyvis ? ” repeated Mrs. Brand, blankly. She had not 
taken Margaret’s hands, but now she extended her right 
hand in a stiff, lifeless fashion, which looked like anything 
but a welcome. “ I do not know — I do not understand 


“ It is surely easy enough to understand,” said Wyvis, 
vehemently. “ She loves me — she has promised to be my 
wife — and you must love her, too, for my sake, as well as 
for her own.” 

“ Won’t you love me a little ? ” said Margaret, letting 
her eyes rest pleadingly on Mrs. Brand’s impassive face. 
She was not accustomed to being met in this exceedingly 
unresponsive manner. Wyvis made a slight jesture of 
impatience, which his mother perfectly understood. She 
tried, in her difficult, frozen way, to say something cor- 
dial. 

“ I am very pleased to see you,” she faltered. “You 
must excuse me if I did not understand at first. Wyvis did 
not tell me.” 

Then she sank into her chair again, more out of physi- 
cal weakness than from any real intention to seat herself. 
Her hand stole to her side, as if to still the beating of her 
heart; her face had turned very pale. Only Janetta 
noticed these signs, which betrayed the greatness of the 
shock ; Margaret, absorbed in her own affairs, and Wyvis 
absorbed in Margaret, had no eyes for the poor mother’s 
surprise and agitation. Janetta made a step forward, but 
she saw that she could do nothing. Mrs. Brand was re- 
covering her composure, and the other two were not in a 
mood to bear interruption. So she waited, and meanwhile 
Margaret spoke. 

“ Dear Mrs. Brand,” she said, kneeling at the side of the 
trembling woman, and laying her clasped hands on her lap, 
“ forgive me for startling you like this.” Even Janetta 
wondered at the marvelous sweetness of Margaret’s tones. 
“ Indeed, I would not have come if there had been any 
other way of letting Wyvis know. They made me promise 
not to write to him, not to meet him in the wood where 
we met before you know, and they watched me, so that I 
could not get out, or send a message or anything. It 
has been like living in prison during the last few days.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


227 


And the girl sobbed a little, and laid her forehead for a 
moment on her clasped hands. 

“ It’sa shame — a shame ! It must not go on,” exclaimed 
Wyvis, indignantly. 

“ In one way it will not go on,” said Margaret, raising 
her head. “ They are going to take me away, and we are 
not to come back for the whole winter — perhaps not next 
year at all. I don’t know where we are going. I shall 
never be allowed to write. And I thought it would be 
terrible to go without letting Wyvis know that I will never, 
never forget him. And I am only nineteen now, and I can’t 
do as I like ; but, when I am twenty-one, nobody can 
prevent me ” 

“Why should anybody prevent you now ? ” said Wyvis 
gloomily. He drew nearer and laid his hand upon her 
shoulder. “ Why should you wait ? You are safe : you 
have come to my mother, and she will take care of you. 
Why need you go back again ? ” 

u Is that right, Wyvis ? ” said Janetta. She could not 
keep silence any longer. Wyvis turned on her almost 
fiercely. Margaret who had not seen her before started 
up and faced her, with a look of something like terror. 

“ It is no business of yours,” said the man. “ This 
matter is between Margaret and myself. Margaret must 
decide it. I do not ask her to compromise herself in any 
way. She shall be in my mother’s care. All she will have 

to do is to trust to me ” 

“ I think we need hardly trouble you, Mr. Brand,” said 
another voice. “ Margaret will be better in the care of 
her own mother than in that of Mrs. Brand or yourself.” 

Lady Caroline Adair stood on the threshold. Lady 
Caroline addressed the little group, on which a sudden 
chill and silence fell for a moment, as if her appearance 
heralded some portentous crash of doom. The door had 
been left ajar when Margaret entered ; it was not easy to 
say how much of the conversation Lady Caroline had heard. 
Mrs. Brand started up ; Margaret turned very pale and 
drew back, while Wyvis came closer to her and put his 
arm round her with an air of protective defiance. Janetta 
drew a quick breath of relief. A disagreeable scene would 
follow she knew well ; and there were probably unpleasant 
times in store for Margaret, but these were preferable to 
the course of rebellion, open or secret, to which the girl 
was being incited by “her too ardent lover. 


228 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Janetta never admired Lady Caroline so much as she 
did just then. Margaret’s mother was the last person to 
show discomposure. She sat down calmly, although no 
one had asked her to take a chair, and smilingly adjusted 
the lace shawl which she had thrown round her graceful 
figure. There were no signs of haste or agitation in her 
appearance. She wore a very elegant and becoming dress, 
a Paris bonnet on her head, a pair of French gloves on her 
slender hands. She became at once the centre of the 
group, the ornamental point on which alt eyes were fixed. 
Every one else was distressed, frightened, or angry ; but 
Lady Caroline’s pleasing smile and little air of society was 
not for one moment to be disturbed. 

“ It is really very late for a call,” she said, quietly, “ but 
as I found that my daughter was passing this way, I thought 
I would follow her example and take the opportunity 
of paying a visit to Mrs. Brand. It is not, however, the 
first time that we have met.” 

She looked graciously towards Mrs. Brand, but that poor 
woman was shaking in every limb. Janetta put her arms 
round Mrs. Brand’s shoulders. What did Lady Caroline 
mean ? She had some purpose to fulfil, or she would not 
sit so quietly, pretending not to notice that her daughter 
was holding Wyvis Brand by the hand and that one of his 
arms was round her waist. There was something behind 
that fixed, agreeable smile. 

“ No,” said Lady Caroline, reflectively, iC not the first 
time. The last time I saw you, Mrs. Brand ” 

“ Oh, my lady, my lady ! ” Mrs. Brand almost shrieked, 
“ for heaven’s sake, my lady, don’t go on ! ” 

She covered her face with her hands and rocked herself 
convulsively to and fro. Wyvis frowned and bit his lip : 
Margaret started and unconsciously withdrew her hand. 
It crossed the minds of both that Mrs. Brand’s tone was 
that of an inferior, that of a servant to a mistress, not that 
of one lady to her equal. 

“ Why should I not go on ? ” said Lady Caroline, glanc- 
ing from one to another as if in utter ignorance. “ Have 
I said anything wrong? I only meant that I was present 
at Mrs. Brand’s first wedding — when she married your 
father, Mr. Wyvis— not your adopted father, of course, but 
John Wyvis, the ploughman.” 

There was a moment’s silence. Then Wyvis took a step 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


229 


forward and thundered, “What V' while the veins stood 
out upon his forehead and his eyes seemed to be gathering 
sombre fire. Mrs. Brand, with her head bowed upon her 
hands, still rocked herself and sobbed. 

“ I hope I have not been indiscreet,” said Lady Caroline, 
innocently. “ You look a little surprised. It is surely no 
secret that you are the son of Mary Wyvis and her cousin, 
John Wyvis, and that you were brought up by Mr. Brand 
as his son simply out of consideration for his wife ? I am 
sure I beg your pardon if I have said anything amiss. As 
Mrs. Brand seems disturbed, I had better go.” 

“ Not until my mother has contradicted this ridiculous 
slander,” said Wyvis, sternly. But his mother only shook 
her head and wailed aloud. 

“ I can’t, my dear — I can’t. It’s true every word of it. 
My lady.knows.” 

“ Of course I know. Come, Mary, don’t be foolish,” 
said Lady Caroline, in the carelessly sharp tone in which 
one sometimes speaks to an erring dependant. “ I took 
an interest in you at the time, you will remember, although 
I was only a child staying at Helmsley Court at the time 
with Mr. Adair’s family. I was fourteen, I think ; and you 
were scullery-maid or something, and told me about your 
sweetheart, John Wyvis. There is nothing to be ashamed 
of: you were married very suitably, and if Wyvis, the 
ploughman, had not been run over when he was intoxicated, 
and killed before your baby’s birth, you might even now 
have been living down at Wych End, with half a dozen 
stalwart sons and daughters — of whom you, Mr. Wyvis, or 
Mr. Wyvis Brand, as you are generally known, would have 
been the eldest — probably by this time a potman or a 
pugilist, with a share in your grandfather’s public-house at 
Roxby. How ridiculous it seems now, does it not? ” 

Astonishment had kept Wyvis silent, but his gathering 
passion could not longer be repressed. 

“ That is enough,” he said. “ If you desire to insult me 
you might have let it be in other company. Or if you will 
send your husband to repeat it ” 

“ I said a pugilist, did I not ? ” said Lady Caroline, 
smiling, and putting up her eye-glass. “ Your thews and 
sinews justify me perfectly — and so, I must say, does your 
manner of speech.” She let her eye run over his limbs 
critically, and then she dropped her glass. “ You are 


230 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


really wonderfully like poor Wyvis ; he was a very strong 
sort of man.” 

“ Will you be so good as to take your leave, Lady CarO' 
line Adair ? I wish to treat you with all due courtesy, as 
you are Margaret’s mother,” said Wyvis, setting his teeth, 
“ but you are saying unpardonable things to a man in his 
own house.” 

“ My dear man, there is nothing to be ashamed of!” 
cried Lady Caroline, as if very much surprised. “ Your 
father and mother were very honest people, and I always 
thought it greatly to Mark Brand’s credit that he adopted 
you. The odd thing was that so few people knew that you 
were not his son. You were only a month or two old when 
he married Mary Wyvis, however ; for your father died 
before your birth ; but there was no secret made of it at 
the time, I believe. And it is nearly thirty years. Things 
get forgotten.” 

“ Mother, can this be true ? ” said W’yvis, hoarsely. He 
was forced into asking the question by Lady Caroline’s cool 
persistence. He was keenly conscious of the fact that 
Margaret, looking scared and bewildered, had shrunk away 
from him. 

“ Yes, yes, it is true,” said Mrs. Brand, with a burst of 
despairing tears. “ We did not mean any harm, and no- 
body made any inquiries. There was nothing wrong about 
it — nothing. It was better for you, Wyvis, that was all.” 

“ Is it better for anybody to be brought up to believe a 
lie ? ” said the young man. His lips had grown white, and 
his brow was set in very ominous darkness. “ I shall hear 
more of this story by and by. I have to thank you, Lady 
Caroline, for letting in a little light upon my mind. Your 
opposition to my suit is amply explained.” 

“ I am glad you take it in that way, Mr. Brand,” said 
Lady Caroline, for the first time giving him his adopted 
name, and smiling very amicably. “ As I happened to be 
one of the very few people who knew or surmised anything 
about the matter, I thought it better to take affairs into my 
own hands — especially when I found that my daughter had 
come to your house. But for this freak of hers I should 
not, perhaps, have interfered. As you are no doubt prepared 
now to resign all hope of her, I am quite satisfied with the 
result of my afternoon’s work. Come, Margaret.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


a 3 j 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE FAILURE OF MARGARET. 

“ Then I am to understand,” said Wyvis, a sudden glow 
breaking out over his dark face, “ that you did not make 
this communication carelessly, as at first I thought, but out 
of malice prepense ? ” 

“ If you like to call it so — certainly,” said Lady Caroline, 
with a slight shrug of her shoulders. 

“ This was your revenge ? — when you found that Mar- 
garet had come to me ! ” 

“You use strange words, Mr. Wyvis Brand. Revenge 
is out of date — a quite too ridiculous idea. I simply mean 
that I never wish to intermeddle with my neighbors’ affairs, 
and should not have thought of bringing this matter for- 
ward if your pretentions could have been settled in an 
ordinary way. If Margaret ” — glancing at her daughter, 
who stood white and thunderstricken at her side — “ had 
behaved with submission and with modesty, I should not 
have had to inflict what seems to be considerable pain 
upon you. But it is her fault and yours. Young people 
should submit to the judgment of their elders : we do not 
refuse to gratify their wishes without good reason.” 

Lady Caroline spoke with a cold dignity, which she did 
not usually assume. Margaret half covered her face with 
one hand, and turned aside. The sight of the slow tears 
trickling through her fingers almost maddened Wyvis, as 
he stood before her, looking alternately at her and at Lady 
Caroline. Mrs. Brand and Janetta were left in the back- 
ground of the little group. The older woman was still 
weeping, and Janetta was engaged in soothing and caressing 
her ; but neither of them lost a word which passed between 
the man for whom they cared and the woman whom at 
that moment they both sincerely hated. 

“But is it a good reason?” said Wyvis at last. His 
eye flashed beneath his dark brow, his nostril began to 
quiver. “ If I had been Mark Brand’s son, you mean, you 
would have given me Margaret ? ” 


232 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ There would then have been no disqualification of 
birth,” said Lady Caroline, clearly. “ There might then 
have been disqualifications of character or of fortune, but 
these we need hardly consider now. The other — the 
primary — fact is conclusive.” 

“ Mamma, mamma ! ” broke out Margaret ; “ don’t say 
these terrible things — please don’t. It isn’t Wyvis’ fault.” 

“ God bless you, my darling ! ” Wyvis muttered between 
his teeth. 

“ No, it is not his fault ; it is his misfortune,” said Lady 
Caroline. 

“ I am to understand, then, Lady Caroline,” said Wyvis, 
to whom Margaret’s expostulation seemed to have brought 
sudden calmness and courage, “ that my lowly origin forms 
an insurmountable barrier to my marriage with Miss 
Adair? ” 

“ Quite so, Mr. Brand.” 

“ But that there is no other obstacle ? ” 

“ I did not say so. Your domestic relations have been 
unfortunate, and Mr. Adair strongly objects to giving his 
daughter to a man in your position. But we need not go 
into that matter ; I don’t consider it a subject suitable for 
discussion in my daughter’s presence.” 

“ Then I appeal to Margaret ! ” said Wyvis, in a deep, 
strong voice. “ I call upon her to decide whether my 
birth is as much of an obstacle as you say it is.” 

“ That is not fair,” said Lady Caroline, quickly. “ She 
will write to you. She can say nothing now.” 

“She must say something. She was on the point of 
giving me herself — her all — when you came in. She had 
promised to be my wife, and she was prepared to keep her 
promise almost immediately. She shall not break her word 
because my father was a ploughman instead of a landowner 
and a gentleman.” 

For once Lady Caroline made a quick, resistant gesture, 
as if some impulse prompted her to speak sharply and 
decisively. Then she recovered herself, leaned back in 
her chair, and smiled faintly. 

“ Is the battle to be fought out here and now ? ” she 
said. “ Well, then, do your worst, Mr. Brand. But I 
must have a word by and by, when you have spoken.” 

Wyvis seemed scarcely to hear her. He was looking 
again at Margaret. She was not crying now, but one 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


2 33 


hand still grasped a handkerchief wet with her tears. She 
had rested the other on the back of her mother’s chair. 
Janetta marveled at her irresolute attitude. In Margaret’s 
place she would have flung her arms round Wyvis Brand’s 
neck, and vowed that nothing but death should sever her 
from him. But Margaret was neither passionately loving 
nor of indomitable courage. 

Wyvis stepped forward and took her by the hand. 
Lady Caroline’s eyebrows contracted a little, but she did 
not interfere. She seemed to hold herself resolutely aloof 
— for a time — and listened, Janetta thought, as if she were 
present at a very interesting comedy of modern manners. 

“ Margaret, look at me ! ” said the man. 

His deep, vibrating voice compelled the girl to raise her 
eyes. She looked up piteously, and seemed half afraid to 
withdraw her gaze from Wyvis’ dark earnestness of aspect. 

“ Margaret — my darling — you said you loved me.” 

“ Yes — I do love you,” she murmured ; but she looked 
afraid. 

“ I am not altered, Margaret : I am the same Wyvis that 
you loved — the Wyvis that you kissed down by the brook, 
when you promised to be my wife. Have you forgotten ? 
Ah no — not so soon. You would not have come here to- 
day if you had forgotten.” 

“ I have not forgotten,” she said, in a whisper. 

“ Then, darling, what difference does it make ? There 
is no stain upon my birth. I would not ask you to share 
a dishonored name. But my parents were honest if they 
were poor, and what they were does not affect me. Mar- 
garet, speak, tell me, dear, that you will not give me up ! ” 

Margaret tried to withdraw her hand. “ I do not know 
what to say,” she whispered. 

“Say that you love me.” 

“ I — have said it.” 

“ Then, that you will not give me up ? ” 

“ Mamma ! ” said Margaret, entreatingly. “ You hear 
what Wyvis says. It is not his fault. Why — why— won’t 
you let us be happy ? ” 

“ Don’t appeal to your mother,” said Wyvis, the work- 
ings of whose features showed that he was becoming fright- 
fully agitated. “ You know that she is against me. Listen 
to your own heart — what does it say ? It speaks to you 
of my love for you, of your own love for me. Darling, 


234 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


you know how miserable my life has been. Are you going 
to scatter all my hopes again and plunge me down in the 
depths of gloom ? And all for what ? To satisfy a worldly 
scruple. It is not even as if I had been brought up in my 
early years in the station to which my father belonged. I 
have never known him — never known any relations but 
the Brands ; and they are not so very much beneath you. 
Don’t fail me, Margaret ! I shall lose all faith in goodness 
if I lose faith in you ! ” 

“ I think,” said Lady Caroline, in the rather dishearten- 
ing pause which followed upon Wyvis’ words — dishearten- 
ing to him, at least, and also to Janetta, who had counted 
much upon Margaret’s innate nobility of soul ! — “ I think 
that I may now be permitted to say a word to my daughter 
before she replies. What Mr. Wyvis Brand asks you to 
do, Margaret, is to marry him at once. Well, the time for 
coercion has gone by. Of course, we cannot prevent you 
from marrying him if you choose to do so, but on the other 
hand we shall never speak to you again.” 

Wyvis uttered a short laugh, as if he were scornfully 
ready to meet that contingency, but Margaret’s look of 
startled horror recalled him to decorum. 

“ You would be no longer any child of ours,” said Lady 
Caroline, calmly. “ Your father concurs with me in this. 
You have known our views so long and so well that we 
feel it almost necessary to explain this to you. Mr. Brand 
wishes you to choose, as a matter of fact, between his 
house and ours. Make your choice — make it now, if you 
like ; but understand — and I am very sorry to be obliged 
to say a thing which may perhaps hurt the feelings of some 
persons present — that if you marry the son of a ploughman 
and a scullery-maid — I do not mean to be more offensive 
than I can help — you cannot possibly expect to be received 
at Helmsley Court.” 

“ But, mamma ! he ranks as one of the Brands of the 
Red House. Nobody knows.” 

“ But everybody will know,” said Lady Caroline, calmly. 
“ I shall take care of that. I don’t know how it is that 
Mr. Brand has got possession of the family estate — to 
which he has, of course, no right ; but it has an ugly look 
of fraud about it, to which public attention had better be 
drawn at once. Mr. Brand may have been a party to 
the deception all along, for aught I know.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


235 


“That statement needs no refutation;' said Wyvis, 
calmly, though with a dangerous glitter in his eyes. “ I 
shall prove my integrity by handing over the Red House to 
my bro to Cuthbert Brand, who is of course the right- 

ful owner of the place.” 

“You hear, Margaret?” said Lady Caroline. “You 
will not even have the Red House in your portion. You 
have to choose between your mother and father and friends, 
position, wealth, refinement, luxury— and Wyvis Brand. 
That is your alternative. He will have no position of his 
own, no house to offer you ; I am amazed at his selfish- 
ness, I must own, at making such a proposition.” 

“ No, madam,” said Mrs. Brand, breaking into the con- 
versation for the first time, and seeming to forget her 
timidity in the defence of her beloved son Wyvis ; “ we 
are not so selfish as you think. The estate was left to 
Wyvis by my husband’s will. He preferred that Wyvis 
should be master here ; and we thought that no one knew 
the truth.” 

“ But I shall not be master here any longer,” said her 
son. “ I will hand over the place to Cuthbert at once. I 
will take nothing on false pretences. So, Margaret, choose 
between me and the advantages your mother offers you. 
It is for you to decide.” 

“Oh, I can’t, I can’t! Why need I decide now?” 
said Margaret, clasping her hands. “ Let me have time 
to think ! ” 

“ No, you must decide now, Margaret,” said Lady 
Caroline. “ You have done a very unjustifiable thing in 
coming here to-day, and you must take the consequences. 
If you still wish to marry Mr. Wyvis Brand, you had 
better accept the offer of his mother’s protection and 
remain here. If you come away with me, it must be under- 
stood that you give up any thought of such a marriage. 
You must renounce Mr. Wyvis Brand from this time forth 
and for ever. Pray, don’t answer hastily. The question 
is this — do you mean to stay here or to come away with 
me ? ” 

She rose as she spoke, and began to arrange the details 
of her dress, as though preparing to take her departure. 
Margaret stood pale, irresolute, miserable between her 
mother and her lover. Wyvis threw out his hands to her 
with an imploring gesture and an almost frenzied cry — 


236 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Margaret — love — come to me ! ” Janetta held her breath. 

But in that moment of indecision, Margaret’s wavering 
eye fell upon Mrs. Brand. The mother was an unlovely 
object in her abject sorrow and despair. Her previous 
coldness and awkwardness told against her at that moment. 
It suddenly darted through Margaret’s mind that she 
would have to accept this woman, with her common 
associations, her obscure origin, her doubtful antecedents, 
in a mother’s place. ' The soul of the girl who had been 
brought up by Lady Caroline Adair revolted at the 
thought. Wyvis she loved, or thought she loved ; Wyvis 
she could accept ; but Wyvis’ mother for her own, coupled 
with exclusion from the home where she had lived so many 
smooth and tranquil years, exclusion also from the society 
in which she had been taught that it was her right to take 
a distinguished place — this was too much. Her dreams 
fell from her like a garment. Plain, unvarnished reality 
unfolded itself instead. To be poor and obscure and 
unfriended, to be looked down upon and pitied, to be 
snubbed and passed by on the other side — this was what 
seemed to be the reality of things to Margaret’s mind. It 
was too much for her to accept. She looked at it and 
passed by it. 

She stretched out her hand timidly and touched her 
mother’s arm. “ Mamma,” she said falteringly, “ I — I will 
come with you.” And then she burst into tears and fell 
upon her mother’s neck, and over her shoulder Lady 
Caroline turned and smiled at Wyvis Brand. She had won 
her game. 

“Of course you will, darling,” she said, caressingly. 
“ I did not think you could have been so wicked as to give 
us up. Come with me ! this is not the place for us.” 

And in the heart-struck silence which fell upon the little 
group that she left behind, Lady Caroline gravely bowed 
and led her weeping daughter from the room. 

“ Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! ” Janetta suddenly cried out ; 
but Margaret never once looked back. Perhaps if she had 
seen Wyvis Brand’s face just then, she might have given 
way. It was a terrible face ; hard, bitter, despairing ; 
with lines of anguish about the mouth, and a lurid light in 
the deep-set, haggard-looking eyes. Janetta, in the pity 
of her heart, went up to her cousin, and took his clenched 
hand between her own. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


237 


<£ Wyvis, dear Wyvis,” she said, “do not look so. Do 
not grieve. Indeed, she could not have been worthy of 
you, or she would not have done like this. All women are 
not like her, Wyvis. Some would have loved you for your- 
self.” 

And there she stopped, crimson and ashamed. For 
surely she had almost told him that she loved him ! — that 
secret of which she had long been so much ashamed, and 
which had given her so much of grief and pain. But she 
attached too much importance to her own vague words. 
They did not betray her, and Wyvis scarcely listened to 
what she said. He broke into a short, harsh laugh, more 
hideous than a sob. 

“ Are not all women like her ? ” he said. “ Then they 
are worse. She was innocent, at any rate, if she was weak. 
But she has sold her soul now, if she ever had one, to the 
devil; and, as I would rather be with her in life and death 
than anywhere else, I shall make haste to go to the devil 
too.” 

He shook off her detaining hand, and strode to the door. 
There he turned, and looked fixedly at his mother. 

“ It is almost worse to be weak than wicked, I think,” 
he said. “ If you had told me the truth long ago, mother, 
I should have kept out of this complication. It’s been 
your fault — my misery and my failure have always been your 
fault. It would have been better for me if you had left 
me to plough the fields like my father before me. As it is, 
life’s over for me in this part of the world, and I may as 
well bid it good-bye.” 

Before they could stop him, he was gone. And Janetta 
could not follow, for Mrs. Brand sank fainting from her 
chair, and it was long before she could be recovered from 
the deathlike swoon into which she fell. 

And throughout that evening, and for days to come, 
Margaret Adair, although petted and caressed and praised 
on every hand, and persuaded into feeling that she had not 
only done the thing that was expected of her, but a very 
worthy and noble thing, was haunted by an uneasy 
consciousness, that the argument which had prevailed with 
her was not the love of home or of her parents, which, 
indeed, might have been a very creditable motive for her 
decision, but a shrinking from trouble, a dislike to effort of 
any kind, and an utter distaste for obscurity and humility. 


238 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Janetta’s reproachful call rang in her ears for days. She 
knew that she had chosen the baser part. True, as she 
argued with herself, it was right to obey one’s parents, to 
be submissive and straightforward, to shrink from the idea 
of ingratitude and rebellion ; and, if she had yielded on 
these grounds, she might have been somewhat consoled 
for the loss of her lover by the conviction that she had 
done her duty. But for some little time she was distress- 
fully aware that she had never considered her parents in 
the matter at all. She had thought of worldly disadvantage 
only. She had not felt any desire to stand by Wyvis Brand 
in his trouble. She had felt only repugnance and disgust ; 
and, having some elements of good in her, she was troubled 
and ashamed by her failure ; for, even if she had done right 
in the main, she knew that she had done it in the wrong 
way. 

But, of course, time changed her estimate of herself. 
She was so much caressed and flattered by her family for 
her “ exquisite dutifulness,” as they phrased it, that she 
ended by believing that she had behaved beautifully. And 
this belief was a great support to her during the winter 
that she subsequently spent with her parents in Italy. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

RETROSPECT. 

For my part, I am inclined to think that Margaret was 
more right than she knew. There was really no inherent 
fitness between her temperament and that of Wyvis Brand ; 
and his position in the County was one which would have 
fretted her inexpressibly. She, who had been the petted 
favorite of a brilliant circle in town and country, to take 
rank as the wife of a ploughman’s son ! It would not have 
suited her at all ; and her discontent would have ended in 
making Wyvis miserable. 

He was, he considered, miserable enough already. He 
was sore all over — sore and injured and angry. He had 
been deceived in a manner which seemed to him unjus- 
tifiable from beginning to end. The disclosure of his 
parentage explained many little things which had been 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


239 


puzzling to him in his previous life, but it brought with it 
a baffling, passionate sense of having been fooled and 
duped — not a condition of things which was easy for him 
to support. Little by little the whole story became clear 
to him. For, when he flung out of the Red House after 
Margaret’s departure, in a tumult of rage and shame, an- 
nouncing his determination to go to the devil, he did not 
immediately seek out the Prince of Darkness : he only 
went to his lawyer. His lawyer told him a good deal, 
and Mrs. Brand, in a letter dictated to Janetta, told him 
more. 

Mary Wyvis, the daughter of the village inn-keeper at 
Roxby, was brought up to act as his barmaid, and early 
became engaged to marry her cousin, John W^yvis, plough- 
man. Everything seemed to be going smoothly, when 
Mark Brand appeared upon the scene, and fell desperately 
in love with the handsome barmaid. She returned his 
love, but was too conscientious to elope with him and 
forget her cousin, as he wished her to do. Her father 
supported John’s claim, and threatened to horsewhip the 
fine gentleman if he visited the Roxby Arms again. By 
way of change, Mary then went into domestic service for 
a few weeks at Helmsley Manor. It was not expected 
that she would remain there, and it was thought by her 
friends that she distinctly “ lowered herself ” by accepting 
this position, for her father was a well-to-do man in his 
way ; but Mary Wyvis made the break with Mark Brand 
by this new departure which she considered it essential for 
her to make ; and she was thereby delivered from his 
attentions for a time. At Helmsley Manor she was treated 
with much consideration, being considered a superior 
young person for her class ; and although only a scullery 
maid in name, she was allowed a good deal of liberty, and 
promoted to attend on Lady Caroline Bertie, who, as a 
girl of fourteen, was then visiting Mrs. Adair, the mother of 
the man whom she afterward married. Mary Wyvis was 
lured into confiding one or two of her little secrets to Lady 
Caroline ; and when she left Helmsley Court to marry 
John Wyvis, that young lady took so much interest in 
the affair that she attended the wedding and gave the bride 
a wedding-present. And as she often visited the Adairs, 
she seldom failed to asked after Mary, until that consum- 
mation of Mary’s fate which effectually destroyed Lady 
Caroline’s interest in her. 


240 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


Wyvis the ploughman was accidentally killed, and 
Mary’s child, named John after his father, was born shortly 
after the ploughman’s death. It was then that Mark Brand 
sought out his old love, and to better purpose than before. 
His passion for her had been strengthened by what he 
was pleased to call her desertion of him. He proposed 
marriage, and offered to adopt the boy. Mary Wyvis ac- 
cepted both propositions, and left England with him 
almost immediately, in order to escape mocking and slan- 
derous tongues. 

It was inevitable that evil should be said of her. Mark 
Brand’s pursuit of her before her marriage to Wyvis had 
been well known. That she should marry him so soon after 
her first husband’s death seemed to point to some continued 
understanding between the two, and caused much gossip 
in the neighborhood. Such gossip was really unfounded, 
for Mary was a good woman in her way, though not a 
very wise one ; but the charges against her were believed 
in many places, and never disproved. It was even whis- 
pered that the little boy was Mark Brand’s own son, 
and that John Wyvis had met his death through some foul 
play. Rumors of this kind died down in course of time. 
But they were certainly sufficient to account for the dis- 
favor with which the County eyed the Brands in general, 
and Mrs. Brand in particular. Mark Brand lived very 
little at the Red House after his marriage. He knew 
what a storm of indignation had been spent upon his con- 
duct, and he was well aware of the aspersions on his wife’s 
character. He was too reckless by nature to try to set 
things straight : he considered that he did his best for his 
family when he left England behind him, and trained the 
boys, Wyvis and Cuthbert, to love a foreign land better 
than their own. 

He grew very fond of Mary’s boy during the first few 
years of his married life. This fondness led him to wish 
that the boy were his own, and the appearance of Cuthbert 
did not alter this odd liking for another man’s son. He 
never cared very much for Cuthbert, who was delicate and 
lame from babyhood ; but Wyvis was the apple of his eye. 
The boy was called John Wyvis : it was easy enough in a 
foreign country to let him slip into the position of the eldest 
of the family as Wyvis Brand. A baby son was born 
before Cuthbert, and dying a month old, gave Mark all 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


241 

the opportunity that he needed. He sent word to old 
Wyvis at Roxby that John’s boy was dead; and he then 
quietly substituted Wyvis in place of his own son. Every 
year, he argued, would make the real difference of age be- 
tween John’s boy and the dead child less apparent : it would 
save trouble to speak of Wyvis as his own, and trouble- 
some inquiries were not likely to be made. Time and use 
made him almost forget that Wyvis did not really belong 
to him ; and but for his wife’s insistence he would not even 
have made the will which secured the Red House to his 
adopted son. Cuthbert was of course treated with scan- 
dalous injustice by this will ; but the secret had been well 
kept, and the story was fully known to nobody save the 
Brands’ lawyer and Mary Brand herself. 

The way in which Lady Caroline had ferreted out the 
secret remained a mystery to the Brands. But they never 
gave her half enough credit for her remarkable cleverness. 
When she saw Wyvis Brand, she had been struck almost 
at once by his likeness to John Wyvis, the man who mar- 
ried her old favorite, Mary. She leaped quickly to the 
conviction that he was not Mark Brand’s son. And when 
Margaret’s infatuation for him declared itself, she went 
straight to her husband’s man of business, and commis- 
sioned him to find out all that could be found out about 
the Brands during the period of their early married life in 
Italy. The task was surprisingly easy. Mark Brand had 
taken few precautions, for he had drifted rather than deli- 
berately steered towards the substitution of Wyvis for his 
own eldest son. A very few inquiries elicited all that 
Lady Caroline wanted to know. But she had not been 
quite sure of her facts when she entered the Red House, 
and, if Mrs. Brand had been a little cooler and a little 
braver, she might have defeated her enemy’s ends, and 
carried her secret inviolate to her grave. 

But courage and coolness were the last things that could 
be expected from Mrs. Brand. She had never possessed 
a strong mind, and the various chances and changes of her 
life had enfeebled instead of strengthening it. Mark Brand 
had proved by no means a loving or faithful husband, and 
did not scruple to taunt her with her inferiority of position, 
or to threaten that he would mortify Wyvis’ pride some 
day by a revelation of his true name and descent. He 
was too fond of Wyvis to carry his threat into effect but 

16 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


742 

he made the poor woman, his wife, suffer an infinity of 
torture, the greater part of which might have been avoided 
if she had chanced to be gifted with a higher spirit and a 
firmer will. 

Wyvis Brand went immediately to London after the in- 
terview with his lawyer in Beaminster, and from London, 
in a few days, he wrote to Cuthbert. The letter was curt, 
but not unfriendly. He wished, he said, to repair the 
injustice that had been done, and to restore to Cuthbert 
the inheritance that was his by right. He had already in- 
structed his lawyers to take the necessary steps, and he was 
glad to think that Cuthbert and Nora would now be able 
to make the Red House what it ought to be. He hoped 
that they would be very happy. For himself, he thought 
of immigrating : lie was heartily sick of modern civilization, 
and believed that he would more easily find friends and 
fellow-workers amongst the Red Skins of the Choctaw 
Indians than in “ County ” drawing-rooms. And only by 
this touch did Wyvis betray the bitterness that filled his 
heart. 

Cuthbert rushed up to town at once in a white heat of in-'" 
dignation. He was only just in timfe to find Wyvis at his 
hotel, for he had taken his passage to America, and was 
going to start almost immediately. But there was time at 
least for a very energetic discussion between the two young 
men. 

“ If you think,” said Cuthbert, hotly, “ that I’m going 
to take your place, you are very much mistaken.” 

“ It is not my place. It has been mine only by fraud.” 

“ Not a bit of it. It is yours by my father’s will. He 
knew the truth, and chose to take this course.” 

“Very unfair to you, Cuth,” said Wyvis, a faint smile 
showing itself for the first time on his haggard face. 

Cuthbert shrugged his shoulders. “ My dear fellow, do 
you suppose it’s any news to me that my father cared more 
for your little finger than for my whole body ? He chose 
— practically — to disinherit me in your favor ; and a very 
good thing it’s been for me too. I should never have taken 
to Art if I had been a landed proprietor.” 

“ I don’t understand it,” said Wyvis, meditatively. 

“ One would have expected him to be jealous of his wife’s 
family— and then you’re a much better fellow than I am.” 

“ That was the reason,” said Cuthbert, sitting down and 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


243 


nursing his lame leg, after a characteristic fashion of his own 
“ I was a meek child — a sickly lad who didn’t get into 
mischief. I was afraid of horses, you may remember, and 
hated manly exercises of every kind. Now you were never 
so happy as when you were on a horse’s back ” 

“ A strain inherited from my ploughman father, I sup- 
pose,” said Wyvis, rather grimly. 

“ And you got into scrapes innumerable ; for which he 
liked you all the better. And you — well you know, old 
boy, you were never a reproach to him, as the sight of me 
was ! ” 

Cuthbert’s voice dropped. He had never spoken of it 
before, but he and Wyvis knew well enough that his lame- 
ness was the result of his father’s brutal treatment of Mary 
Brand shortly before the birth of her second son. 

“ He ought to have been more bent on making amends 
than on sacrificing you to me,” said Wyvis, bitterly. 

“ Oh, don’t look at it in that way,” Cuthbert answered. 
The natural sweetness of his disposition made it pain- 
fulto him to hear his father blamed, although that 
father had done his best to make his life miserable. 
“ He never meant to hurt me, the poor old man ; 
and when he had done it, the sight of my infirmity 
became exquisitely painful to him. I can forgive him that ; 
I can forgive him everything. There are others whom it 
is more difficult to forgive.” 

“ You mean ” 

“ I mean women who have not tne courage to be true,” 
said Cuthbert, in a low voice. He did not look at his 
brother, but he felt certain that a thrill of pain passed 
through him. For a minute or two Wyvis did not speak. 

“ Well,” he said at last, forcing an uneasy laugh, “ I 
think that she was perhaps right. She might not have been 
very happy. And I doubt, after all, whether I ought to 
have asked her. Janetta thought not, at any rate.” 

“ Janetta is generally very wise.” 

“ So she is very wise. I am legally quite free, but she 
thinks me — morally — bound.” 

“ Well, so do I,” said Cuthbert, frankly. “ On all 
moral and religious grounds, I think you are as much 
bound as ever you were. And if Miss Adair refused you 
on those grounds, she has more right on her side than I 
thought.” 


244 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Ah, but she did not,” answered Wyvis, dryly. “ She 
refused me because I was not rich, not ‘ in society,’ and a 
ploughman's son.” 

“ That’s bad,” said his brother. And then the two sat 
for a little time in silence, which is the way of Englishmen 
when one wishes to show sympathy for another. 

“But we are not approaching what I want to say at all,” 
said Cuthbert, presently. “We must not let our feelings run 
away with us. We are both in a very awkward position, 
old boy, but we shan’t make it better by publishing it to 
the world. If you throw up the place in this absurd 
fashion — excuse the term — you will publish it to the world 
at large.” 

“ Do you think that matters to me ? ” asked Wyvis, 
sternly. 

“ Perhaps not to you. But it matters to mother, and to 
me. And it affects our father’s character.” 

“ Your father’s, not mine.” 

“ He was the only father you ever knew, and you have 
no reason to find fault with him.” 

Wyvis groaned impatiently. “ One has duties to the 
living, not to the dead.” 

“ One has duties to the dead, too. You can’t give up 
the Red House to me — even if I would take it, which I 
won’t — without having the whole story made public. My 
father hasn’t a very good reputation in the County: 
people will think no better of him for having lamed me, 
disinherited me, and practiced a fraud on them. That’swhat 
they will say about the affair, you know. We can’t let the 
world know.” 

“ Then I’d better go and shoot myself. It seems to me 
the only thing I can do.” 

“And what about Julian? The estate would pass to 
him, of course,” said Cuthbert, coolly. He saw that 
Wyvis’ face changed a little at the mention of Julian’s 
name. 

“No, I could will it to you — make it over to you, with 
the condition that it should go to the Foundling Hospital 
if you wouldn’t accept it.” 

“ I think that a will of that kind could be easily set 
aside on the ground of insanity,” said Cuthbert, with a 
slight smile. 

“ I £ould find a way out of the difficulty, if J tried, I have 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


245 

no doubt,” said Wyvis, frowning gloomily and pulling at 
his moustache. 

“ Don't try,” said his brother* leaning forward and 
speaking persuasively. “ Let things continue much as 
they are. I am content : Nora is content. Why should 
you not be so, too ? ” Then, as Wyvis shook his head : 
“ Make your mind easy then if you must do something, 
by giving me a sum down, or a slice of your income, 
old man. Upon my word I wouldn’t live in the old place 
if you gave it to me. It is picturesque — but damp. Come 
let’s compromise matters.” 

“ l love every stick and stone in the place,” said Wyvis 
grimly. 

“I know you do. I don’t. I want to live in Paris or 
Vienna with Nora, and enjoy myself. I don’t want to 
paint pot-boilers. I say like the man in the parable, 
* Give me the portion that belongeth to me,’ and I’ll go 
my way, promising, however, not to spend it in riotous 
living. Won’t that arrangement suit you? ” 

Wyvis demurred at first, but was finally persuaded into 
making an arrangement of the kind that Cuthbert desired. 
He retained the Red House, but he bestowed on his 
brother enough to give him an ample income for the life 
that Cuthbert and Nora wished to lead. During his 
absence from England, Mrs. Brand and Julian were still 
to inhabit the Red House. And Wyvis announced his 
intention of going to South America to shoot big game, 
from which Cuthbert inferred that his heart, although 
bruised, was not broken yet. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

FROM DISTANT LANDS. 

More than a year had passed away since the events re- 
corded in the last chapter. Early autumn was beginning 
to touch the leaves with gold and crimson ; the later 
flowers were coming into bloom, and the fruit hung purple 
and russet-red upon the boughs. The woods about Bea- 
minster had put on a gorgeous mantle, and the gardens 
were gay with color, and yet over all there hung the inde- 


246 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


finable brooding melancholy that comes of the first touch 
of decay. It was of this that Janetta Cohvyn was chiefly 
conscious, as she walked in the Red House grounds and 
looked at the yellowing leaves that eddied through the 
still air to the gravelled walks and unshorn lawns below. 
Janetta was thinner and paler than in days of yore, and 
yet there was a peaceful expression upon her face which 
gave it an added charm. She had discarded her black 
gowns, and wore a pretty dark red dress which suited her 
admirably. There was a look of thought and feeling in her 
dark eyes, a sweetness in her smile, which would always 
redeem her appearance from the old charge of insignificance 
that used to be brought against it. Small and slight she 
might be, but never a woman to be overlooked. 

The past few months had seen several changes in her 
family. Mrs. Colwyn was now Mrs. Burroughs, and filled 
her place with more dignity than had been expected. She 
was kept in strict order by her husband and his sister, and, 
like many weak persons, was all the better and happier for 
feeling a strong hand over her. The children had accom- 
modated themselves very well to the new life, and were 
very fond of their stepfather. Nora and Cuthbert had 
quitted the Red House almost immediately after their 
ma t riage, and gone to Paris, whence Nora wrote glowing 
accounts to her sister of the happiness of her life. And 
Janetta had taken up her abode at the Red House, nomi- 
nally as governess to little Julian, and companion to Mrs. 
Brand, but practically ruler of the household, adviser-in- 
chief to every one on the estate ; teacher, comforter, and 
confidante in turn, or all at once. She could not remain 
long in any place without winning trust and affection, and 
there was not a servant in Wyvis Brand’s employ who did 
not soon learn that the best way of gaining help in need 
or redress for any grievance was to address himself or her- 
self to little Miss Colwyn. To Mrs. Brand, now more 
weak and ailing than ever, Janetta was like a daughter. 
And secure in her love, little Julian never knew what it 
was to miss a mother’s care. 

Janetta might have her own private cares and worries, 
but in public, at any rate, she was seldom anything but 
cheerful. It was a duty that she owed the world, she 
thought, to look bright in it, and especially a duty to Mrs. 
Brand and little Julian, who would sorely have missed her 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


247 


ready playfulness and her tender little jokes if ever she 
had forgotten herself so far as to put on a gloomy coun- 
tenance. And yet she sometimes felt very much dispirited. 
She had no prospects of prosperity ; she could not expect 
to live at the Red House for ever ; and yet, when Wyvis 
came home and she had to go — which, of course, must 
happen some time, since Mrs. Brand was growing old and 
infirm, and Julian would have to go to school — what would 
she do ? She asked herself this question many times, and 
could never find a very satisfactory answer. She might 
advertise for a situation: she might take lodgings in 
London, and give lessons : she might go to the house of 
her stepfather. Each of these attempts to solve the prob- 
lem of her future gave her a cold shudder and a sudden 
sickness of heart. And yet, as she often severely told 
herself, what else was there for her to do ? 

She had heard nothing of the Adairs, save through 
common town gossip, for many months. The house was 
shut up, and they were still travelling abroad. Margaret 
had evidently quite given up her old friend, Janetta, and 
this desertion made Janetta's heart a little sore. Wyvis 
also was in foreign lands. He had been to many places, 
and killed a great many wild beasts — so much all the 
world knew, and few people knew anything more. To his 
mother he wrote seldom, though kindly. An occasional 
note to Julian, or a post card to Cuthbert or his agent, 
would give a new address from time to time, but it was to 
Janetta only that he sometimes wrote a really long and 
interesting epistle, detailing some of his adventures in the 
friendly and intimate way which his acquaintance with her 
seemed to warrant. He did not mention any of his private 
affairs : he never spoke of that painful last scene at the Red 
House, of Margaret, of his mother, of his wife ; but he 
wrote of the scenes through which he passed, and the per- 
sons whom he met, with an unreserve which Janetta knew 
to be the sincerest compliment. 

But on this autumnal day she had received a letter in 
which another note was struck. And it was for this reason 
that she had brought it out into the garden, so that she 
might think over it, and read it again in the shadow of the 
great beech trees, away from the anxious eyes of Mrs. 
Brand and the eager childish questions of Wyvis’ boy. 

For three pages Wyvis had written in his usual strain. 


248 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


He was not perhaps an ideally good letter-writer, but he 
had a terse, forcible style of his own, and could describe a 
scene with some amount of graphic pcwer. In the midst 
of an account of certain brigands with whom he had met in 
Sicily, however, he had, in this letter, broken off quite 
suddenly and struck into a new subject in a new and un- 
expected way. 

V I had written thus far when I was interrupted : the 
date of the letter, you will see, is three weeks ago. I put 
down my pen and went out : I found that fever had made 
its appearance, so I packed up my traps that afternoon 
and started for Norway. A sudden change, you will say? 
Heaven knows why I went there, but I am glad I did. 

“ It was early in July when I reached the hotel at V . 

There was table d'hote and many another sign of civiliza- 
tion, which bored me not a little. However, I made the 
best of a bad job, and went down to dinner with the rest, 
took my seat without noticing my companions until I was 
seated, and then found myself next to — can you guess who, 
Janetta? — I am sure you never will. 

“ Lady Caroline Adair ! ! ! 

“ Her daughter was just beyond her, and Mr. Adair 
beyond the daughter, so the fair Margaret was well guarded. 
Of course I betrayed no sign of recognition, but I wished 
myself at Jericho very heartily. For, between ourselves, 
Janetta, I made such an ass of myself last summer that my 
ears burn to think of it, and it was not a particularly 
honorable or gentlemanly ass, I believe, so that I deserve 
to be drowned in the deep sea for my folly. I can only 
hope that I did not show what I felt. 

“ Miss Adair was blooming : fair, serene, self-possessed 
as ever. She did not show any sign of embarrassment, I 
can tell you. She did not even blush. She looked at me 
once or twice with the faint, well-bred indifference with 
which the well-brought-up young lady usually eyes a per- 
fect stranger. It was Mr. Adair who did all the embar- 
rassment for us. He turned purple when he saw me, and 
wanted his daughter to come away from the table. My 
ears are quick, and I heard what he said to her, and I 
heard also her reply. ‘ Why should I go away, dear papa ! 
I don’t mind in the least.’ Kind of her not to mind, wasn’t 
it ? And do you think I was going to ‘ mind,’ afte.r that ? 
I lifted up my head, which X had hitherto bent studiously 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


249 


over my soup, and began to talk to my neighbor on the 
other side, a stalwart English clergyman with a blue ribbon 
at his button-hole. 

“ But presently, to my surprise, Lady Caroline addressed 
me. ‘ I hope you have not forgotten me, Mr. Brand,’ she 
said, quite graciously. I must confess, Janetta, that I 
stared at her. The calm audacity of the woman took me 
by surprise. She looked as amiable as if we were close 
friends meeting after a long absence. I hope you won’t 
be very angry with me when I tell you how I answered 
her. ‘ Pardon me,’ I said, ‘ my name is Wyvis — not 
Brand.’ And then I went on talking to my muscular 
Christian on the left. 

“ She looked just a little bit disconcerted. Not much, 
you know. It would take a great deal to disconcert Lady 
Caroline very much. But she did not try to talk to me 
again ! I choked her off that time, anyhow. 

“ And, now, let me make a confession. I don’t admire 
Margaret Adair in the very least. I did, I know : and I 
made a fool of myself, and worse, perhaps, about her : but 
she does not move one fibre of my heart now, she does not 
make it beat a bit faster, and she does not give my eye 
more pleasure than a wax doll would give me. She is fair 
and sweet and tranquil, I know : but what has she done 
with her heart and her brain ? I suppose her mother has 
them in her keeping, and will make them over to her 

husband when she marries? I know a woman who 

is worth a dozen Margarets 

“ But I have made up my mind to live single, so long as 
Julian’s mother is alive. Legally, I am not bound ; morally, 
I can scarcely feel myself free. And I know that you feel 
with me, Janet. The world may call us over-scrupulous ; 
but I set your judgment higher than that of the world. 
And all I can say about Margaret is that I fell into a 
passing fit of madness, and cared for nothing but what my 
fancy dictated ; and that now I am sane — clothed in my 
right mind, so to speak — I am disgusted with myself for 
my folly. Lady Caroline and her daughter should have 
taken higher ground. They were right to send me away — 
but not right to act on unworthy motives. In the long 
nights that I have spent camping out under the quiet stars, 
far away from the dwellings of men, I have argued the 
thing out with myself, and I say unreservedly that they 


25 ° 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


•were right and I was wrong — wrong from beginning to 
end, wrong to my mother, wrong to my wife (as she once 
was), wrong to Margaret, wrong to myself. Your influence 
has always been on the side of right and truth, Janetta, 
and you more than once told me that I was wrong. 

“ So I make my confession. I do not think tha-t I shall 
come back to England just yet. I am going to America 
next week. You will not leave the Red House, will you ? 
While you are there I can feel at ease about my mother 
and my boy. I trust you with them entirely, Janetta ; and 
I want you to trust me. Wherever I may go, and whatever 
I may do, I will henceforward be worthy of your trust and 
of your friendship.” 

This was the letter that Janetta read under the beech 
trees ; and as she read it tears gathered in her eyes and 
fell upon the pages. But they were not tears of sadness — 
rather tears of joy and thankfulness. For Wyvis Brand’s 
aberration of mind — so it had always appeared to her — had 
given her much pain and sorrow. And he seemed now to 
have placed his foot upon the road to better things. 

She was still holding the letter in her hand when she 
reached the end of the beech-tree shaded walk along which 
she had been slowly walking. The tears were wet upon 
her cheeks, but a smile played on her lips. She did not 
notice for some time that she was watched from the gate 
that led into the pasture-land, at the end of the beech-tree 
walk, by a woman, who seemed uncertain whether to speak, 
to enter, or to go away. 

Janetta saw her at last, and wondered what she was 
doing there. She put the letter into her pocket, dashed 
the tears from her eyes, and advanced towards the gate. 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” she said. 

The woman looked about thirty-five years old, and pos- 
sessed the remains of great beauty. She was haggard and 
worn : her cheeks were sunken, though brilliantly red, and 
her large, velvety-brown eyes were strangely bright. Her 
dark, waving hair had probably once been curled over her 
brow : it now hung almost straight, and had a rough, 
dishevelled look, which corresponded with the soiled and 
untidy appearance of her dress. Her gown and mantle 
were of rich stuff, but torn and stained in many places ; 
and her gloves and boots were shabby to the very last 
degree, while her bonnet, of cheap and tawdry materials^ 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


251 


had at any rate the one merit of being fresh and new. 
Altogether she was an odd figure to be seen in a country 
place ; and Janetta wondered greatly whence she came, 
and what her errand was at the Red House. 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” she asked. 

“ This is the Red House, I suppose ? ” the woman asked, 
hoarsely. 

“ Yes, it is.’’ 

“ Wyvis Brand’s house?” 

Janetta hesitated in surprise, and then said, “ Yes,” in a 
rather distant tone. 

“ Who are you ? ” said the woman, looking at her 
sharply. 

“ I am governess to Mr. Brand’s little boy.” 

“Oh, indeed. And he’s at home, I suppose? ” 

“ No,” said Janetta, gravely, “ he has been away for 
more than a year, and is now, I believe, on his way to 
America.” 

“ You lie ! ” said the woman, furiously ; “ and you know 
that you lie ! ” 

Janetta recoiled a step. Was this person mad? 

“ He is at home, and you want to keep me out,” the 
woman went on, wildly. “ You don’t want me to set foot 
in the place, or to see my child again ! He is at home, and 
I’ll see him if I have to trample on your body first.” 

“ Nobody wants to keep you out,” said Janetta, forcing 
herself to speak and look calmly, but tingling with anger 
from head to foot. “ But I assure you Mr. Brand is away 
from home. His mother lives here ; she is not very strong, 
and ought not to be disturbed. If you will give me your 
name ” 

> 11 My name ? ” repeated the other in a tone of mockery. 
“ Oh yes, I’ll give you my name. I don’t see why I should 
hide it ; do you ? I’ve been away a good long time ; but 
I mean to have my rights now. My name is Mrs. Wyvis 
Brand : what do you think of that, young lady? ” 

She drew herself up as she spoke, looking gaunt and 
defiant. Her eyes flamed and her cheeks grew hotter and 
deeper in tint until they were poppy-red. She showed her 
teeth — short, square, white teeth — as if she wanted to snarl 
like an angry dog. But Janetta, after the first moment of 
repulsion and astonishment, was not dismayed. 

“ I did not know,” she said, gravely, “ that you had any 


252 


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right to call yourself by that name. I thought that you 
were divorced from Mr. Wyvis Brand.” 

“ Separated for incompatibility of temper ; that was all,” 
said Mrs. Brand coolly. “ I told him I’d got a divorce, 
but it wasn’t true. I wanted to be free from him — that’s 
the truth. I didn’t mean him to marry again. I heard 
that he was going to be married — is that so ! Perhaps he 
was going to marry you ? ” 

“ No,” Janetta answered, very coldly. 

“ I’m not going to put up with it if he is,” was her 
visitor’s sullen reply. “ I’ve borne enough from him in 
my day, I can tell you. So I’ve come for the boy. I’m 
going to have him back ; and when I’ve got him I’ve no 
doubt but what I can make Wyvis do what I choose. I 
hear he’s fond of the boy.” 

“But what — what — do you want him to do?” said 
Janetta, startled out of her reserve. “ Do you want — 
money from him ? ” 

Mrs. Wyvis Brand laughed hoarsely. Janetta noticed 
that her breath was very short, and that she leaned against 
the gate-post for support. 

“ No, not precisely,” she said. “ I want more than that. 
I see that he’s got a nice, comfortable, respectable house \ 
and I’m tired of wandering. I’m ill, too, I believe. I 
want a place in which to be quiet and rest, or die, as it 
may turn out. I mean Wyvis to take me back.”' 

She opened the gate as she spoke, and tried to pass 
Janetta. But the girl stood in her way. 

“ Take you back after you have left him and ill-treated 
him and deceived him, you wicked woman ! ” she broke 
out, in her old impetuous way. And for answer, Mrs. 
Wyvis Brand raised her hand and struck her sharply across 
the face. 

A shrill, childish cry rang out upon the air. Janetta 
stood mute and trembling, unable for the moment to move 
or speak, as little Julian suddenly flung himself into her 
arms and tried to drag her towards the house. 

“ Oh, come away, come away, dear Janetta ! ” he cried. 
“ It’s mamma, and she’ll take me back to Paris, I know 
she will ! I won’t go away from you, I won’t, I won’t ! ” 

His mother sprung towards him, as if to tear him from 
Janetta’s arm, and then her strength seemed suddenly to 
pass from her. She stopped, turned ghastly white, and 


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253 


then as suddenly very red. Then she flung up her arms 
with a gasping, gurgling cry, and, to Janetta’s horror, she 
saw a crimson tide break from her quivering lips. She 
was just in time to catch her in her arms before she sank 
senseless to the ground. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

JULIET. 

There was no help for it. Into Wyvis Brand’s house 
Wy vis Brand’s wife must go. Old Mrs. Brand came feebly 
into the garden, and identified the woman as the mother 
of Julian, and the wife of her eldest son. She could not 
be allowed to die at their door. She could not be taken to 
any other dwelling. There were laborers’ cottages, only 
in the immediate vicinity. She must be brought to the 
Red House and nursed by Janetta and Mrs. Brand. A 
woman with a broken blood-vessel, how unworthy soever 
she might be, could not be sent to the Beaminster Hospi- 
tal three miles away. Common humanity forbade it. She 
must, for a time at least, be nursed in the place where she 
was taken ill. 

So she was carried indoors and laid in the best bedroom, 
which was a gloomy-looking place until Janetta began to 
make reforms in it. When she had put fresh curtains to 
the windows, and set flowers on the window-sill, and ban- 
ished some of the old black furniture, the room looked a 
trifle more agreeable, and there was nothing on which poor 
Juliet Brand’s eye could dwell with positive dislike or 
dissatisfaction when she came to herself. But for some 
time she lay at the very point of death, and it seemed to 
Janetta and to all the watchers at the bedside that Mrs. 
Wyvis Brand could not long continue in the present world. 

Mrs. Brand the elder seldom came into the room. She 
showed a singular horror of her daughter-in-law : she 
would not even willingly speak of her. She pleaded her ill- 
health as an excuse for not taking her share of the nursing ; 
and when it seemed likely that Janetta would be worn out 
by it, she insisted that a nurse from the Beaminster Hospital 
should be procured. “It will not be for long,” she said 


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gioomily, when Janetta spoke regretfully of the expense. 
For Janetta was chief cashier and financier in the house- 
hold. 

But it appeared as if she were mistaken. Mrs. Brand 
did hot die, as everybody expected. She lay for a time 
in a very weak state, and then began gradually to recover 
strength. Before long, she was able to converse, and then 
she showed a preference for Janetta’s society which puzzled 
the girl not a little. For Julian she also showed some 
fondness, but he sometimes wearied, sometimes vexed her, 
and a visit of a very few minutes sufficed for both mother 
and son. Julian himself exhibited not only dislike bu 4 - ter- 
ror of her. He tried to run away and hide when the hour 
came for his daily visit to his mother’s room ; and when 
Janetta spoke to him on the subject rather anxiously, he 
burst into tears and avowed he was afraid. 

“ Afraid of what ? ” said Janetta. 

But he only sobbed and would not tell. 

“She can’t hurt you, Julian, dear. She is ill and weak 
and lonely ; and she loves you. It’s not kind and loving 
of you to run away.” 

“ I don’t want to be unkind.” 

“ Or unloving? ” said Janetta. 

“ I don’t love her,” the boy answered, and bit his lip. 
His eye flashed for a moment, and then he looked down 
as if he were ashamed of the confession. 

“ Julian, dear ? Your mother ? ” 

“ I can’t help it. She hasn’t been very much like a 
mother to me.” 

“ You should not say that, dear. She loves you very 
much ; and all people do not love in the same way.” 

' “ Oh, it isn’t that,” said the boy, as if in desperation. “ I 

know she loyes me, but — but ” And there he broke 

down in a passion of tears and sobs, amidst which Janetta 
could distinguish only a few words, such as “ Suzanne 
said ” — “ father ” — “ make me wicked too.” 

“ Do you mean,” said Janetta, more shocked than she 
liked to show, “ that you think your father wicked ? ” 

“ Oh, no, no ! Suzanne said mother was not good. Not 
father.” 

“ But, my dear boy, you must not say that your mother 
is not good. You have no reason to say so, and it is a 
terrible thing to say.” 


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255 


“She was unkind to father — and to me, too,” Julian 
burst forth. “ And she struck you ; she is wicked and 
unkind, and I don’t love her. And Suzanne said she would 
make me wicked, too, and that I was just like her ; and I 
don’t want — to — be — wicked.” 

“ Nobody can make you wicked if you are certain that 
you want to be good,” said Janetta, gravely ; “and it was 
very wrong of Suzanne to say anything that could make 
you think evil of your mother.” 

“ Isn’t she naughty, then ? ” Julian asked in a bewildered 
tone. 

“ I do not know,” Janetta answered, very seriously. 
“ Only God knows that. We cannot tell. It is the last 
thing we ought say.” 

“But — but — you call me naughty sometimes?” the 
child said, fixing a pair of innocent, inquiring eyes upon 
her. 

“ Ah, but, my dear, I do not love you the less,” said 
Janetta, out of the fullness of her heart, and she took him 
in her arms and kissed him. 

“ You are more like what I always think a mother ought 
to be,” said Julian. What stabs children inflict on us 
sometimes by their artless words ! Janetta shuddered a 
little as he spoke. “ Then ought I to love her, whether 
she is good or bad ? ” 

Janetta paused. She was very anxious to say only what 
was right. 

“ Yes, my darling,” she said at last. “ Love her always, 
through everything. She is your mother, and she has a 
right to your love.” 

And then, in simple words, she talked to him about 
right and wrong, about love and duty and life, until, with 
brimming eyes, he flung his arms about her, and said — 

“ Yes, I understand now. And I will love her and take 
care of her always, because God sent me to her to do 
that.” 

And he objected no more to the daily visit to his mother’s 
room. 

The sick woman’s restless eyes, sharpened by illness, 
soon discerned the change in his demeanor. 

“ You’ve been talking to that boy about me,” she said 
one day to Janetta, in a quick, sensitive voice. 

“ Nothing that would hurt you,” Janetta replied, smiling. 


256 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


“ Oh, indeed, I’m not so sure of that. He used to run 
away from me, and now he sits beside me like a lamb. I 
know what you’ve been saying.” 

“ What ? ” said Janetta. 

“ You’ve been saying that I’m going to die, and that he 
won’t be bothered with me long. Eh ? ” 

“ No ; nothing of that kind.” 

“ What did you say, then ? ” 

“ I told him,” said Janetta, slowly, “ that God sent him 
to you as a little baby to be a help and comfort to you ; 
and that it was a son’s duty to protect and sustain his 
mother, as she had once protected and sustained him.” 

“ And you think he understood that sort of nonsense ? ” 

“You see for yourself whether he does or not,” said 
Janetta, gently. “ He likes to come and see you and sit 
beside you now.” 

Mrs. Wyvis Brand was silent for a minute or two. A 
tear gathered in each of her defiant black eyes, but she 
did not allow either of them to fall. 

“ You’re a queer one,” she said, with a hard laugh. “ I 
never met anybody like you before. You’re religious, 
aren’t you ? ” 

“ I don’t know : I should like to be,” said Janetta, 
soberly. 

“ That’s the queerest thing you’ve said yet. - And all 
you religious people look down on folks like me.” 

“ Then I’m not religious, for I don’t look down on folks 
like you at all,” said Janetta, calmly adopting Mrs. Brand’s 
vocabulary. 

“ Well, you ought to. I’m not a very good sort myself.” 

Janetta smiled, but made no other answer. And pres- 
ently Juliet Brand remarked — 

“ I dare say I’m not so bad as some people, but I’ve 
never been a saint, you know. And the day I came here 
I was in an awful temper. I struck you, didn’t I ? ” 

“ Oh, never mind that,” said Janetta, hastily. “ You 
were tired : you hardly knew what you were doing.” 

“ Yes, I did,” said Mrs. Brand. “ I knew perfectly well. 
But I hated you, because you lived here and had care of 
Julian. I had heard all about you at Beaminster, you see. 
And people said that you would probably marry Wyvis 
when he came home again. Oh, I’ve made you blush, have 
I ? It was true then ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


257 


44 Not at all ; and you have no right to say so.” 

“ Don’t be angry, my dear. I don’t want to vex you. 

But it looks to me rather as though Well, we won’t say 

any more about it since it vexes you. I shan’t trouble you 
long, most likely, and then Wyvis can do as he pleases. 
But you see it was that thought that maddened me when I 
came here, and I felt as if I’d like to fall upon you and 
tear you limb from limb. So I struck you on the face 
when you tried to thwart me.” 

44 But — I don’t understand,” said Janetta, tremulously. 
44 I thought you did not — love — Wyvis.” 

Mrs. Brand laughed. 44 Not in your way,” she said in 
an enigmatic tone. “ But a woman can hate a man and 
be jealous of him too. And I was jealous of you, and 
struck you. And in return for that you’ve nursed me 
night and day, and waited on me, until you’re nearly 
worn out, and the doctor says I owe my life to you. Don’t 
you think I’m right when I say you’re a queer one ?” 

“ It would be very odd if I neglected you when you 
were ill just because of a moment of passion on your 
part,” said Janetta, rather stiffly. It was difficult to her to 
be perfectly natural just then. 

“ Would it? Some people wouldn’t say so. But come 
— you say I don’t love Wyvis?” 

44 I thought so— certainly.” 

“ Well, look here,” said Wyvis’ wife. “ I’ll tell you 
something. Wyvis was tired of me before ever he married 
me. I soon found that out. And you think I should be 
caring for him then ? Not I. But there was a time when 
I would have kissed the very ground he walked on. But 
he never cared for me like that.” 

“ Then — why ” 

44 Why did he marry me ? Chiefly because his old fool of 
a mother egged him on. She should have let us alone.” 

44 Did she want him to marry you ? ” said Janetta, in 
some amaze. 

44 It doesn’t seem likely, does it?” said Mrs. Brand, 
with a shafp, heartless little laugh. 44 But she sets up for 
having a conscience now and then. I was a girl in a shop, 
I may tell you, and Wyvis made love to me without the 
slightest idea of marrying me. Then Mrs. Brand comes 
on the scene : 4 Oh, my dear boy, you mustn’t make that 
young woman unhappy. I was made unhappy by a gentle- 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


258 

man when I was a girl, and I don’t want you to behave as 
he did.’” 

“ And that was very good of Mrs. Brand ! ” said Jan- 
etta, courageously. 

Juliet made a grimace. “ After a fashion. She had 
better have let us alone. She put Wyvis into a fume about 
his honor ; and so he asked me to marry him. And I 
cared for him — though I cared more about his position — 
and I said yes. So we were married, and a nice cat and 
dog life we had of it together.” 

“ And then you left him ? ” 

“ Yes, I did. I got tired of it all at last. But I always 
lived respectably, except for taking a little too much, 
stimulant now and then ; and I never brought any dis- 
honor on his name. And at last I thought the best thing 
for us both would be to set him free. And I wrote to him 
that he was free. But there was some hitch — I don’t know 
what exactly. Any way, we’re bound to each other as fast 
as ever we were, so we needn’t think to get rid of each 
other just yet.” 

Janetta felt a throb of thankfulness, for Margaret’s sake. 
Suppose she had yielded to Wyvis’ solicitations and be- 
come his wife, to be proved only no wife at all ? Her want 
of love for Wyvis had at least saved her from terrible 
misery. Mrs. Brand went on, reflectively — 

“ When I’m gone, he can marry whom he likes. I only 
hope it’ll be anybody as good as you. You’d make a 
capital mother to Julian. And I don’t suppose I shall 
trouble anybody very long.” 

“You are getting better — you will soon be perfectly 
well.” 

“ Nonsense : nothing of the kind. But if I am, I know 
one thing,” said Mis. Brand, in a petulant tone ; “ I won’t 
be kept out of my rights any longer. This house seems 
to be nice and comfortable : I shall stay here. I am tired 
of wandering about the world.” 

Janetta was silent and went on with some needlework. 

“ You don’t like that, do you? ” said Mrs. Brand, peer- 
ing into her face. “ You think I’d be better away.” 

“ No,” said Janetta. But she could not say more. 

“ Do you know where he is ? ” 

“He? Wyvis?” 

“ Yes, my husband.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


259 


u I have an address. I do not know whether he is there 
or not, but he would no doubt get a letter if sent to the 
place. Do you wish to write to him ? " 

“ No. But I want you to write. Write and say that I 
am here. Ask him to come back.” 

“ You had better write yourself." 

“ No. He would not read it. Write for me.’’ 

Janetta could not refuse. But she felt it one of the 
hardest tasks that she had ever had to perform in life. 
She was sorry for Juliet Brand, but she shrank with all her 
heart and soul from writing to Wyvis to return to her. Yet 
what else could she do ? 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE FRUITS OF A LIE. 

When she told old Mrs. Brand what she had done, she 
was amazed to mark the change which came over that sad 
and troubled countenance. Mrs. Brand’s face flushed 
violently, her eyes gleamed with a look as near akin to 
wrath as any which Janetta had ever seen upon it. 

“You have promised to write to Wyvis?" she cried. 
“ Why ? What is it to you ? Why should you write ? ” 
“ Why should I not ? " asked Janetta, in surprise. 

“ He will never come back to her — never. And it is 
better so. She spoiled his life with her violence, her 
extravagance, her flirtations. He could not bear it ; and 
why should he be brought back to suffer all again? " 

“ She is his wife still," said the girl, in a low tone. 

“ They are separated. She tried to get a divorce, even 
if she did not succeed. I do not call her his wife.” 

Janetta shook her head. “ I cannot think of it as you 
do, then,” she said, quietly. “ She and Wyvis are married ; 
and as they separated only for faults of temper, not for 
unfaithfulness, I do not believe that they have any right to 
divorce each other. Some people may think differently — 
I cannot see it in that way." 

“ You mean,” said Mrs. Brand, with curious agitation 
of manner; “ you mean that even if she had divorced him 
in America, you would not think him free — free to marry 
again ? ” 


26 o 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


11 No,” Janetta answered, “ I would not.” 

She felt a singular reluctance to answering the question, 
and she hoped that Mrs. Brand would ask her nothing 
more. She was relieved when Wyvis’ mother moved away, 
after standing perfectly still for a moment, with her hands 
clasped before her, a strange ashen shade of color dis- 
figuring her handsome old face. Janetta thought the face 
had grown wonderfully tragic of late ; but she hoped that 
when Juliet had left the house the poor mother would again 
recover the serenity of mind which she had gained during 
the past few months of Ja%etta’s gentle companionship. 

She wrote her letter to Wyvis, making it as brief and 
business-like as possible. She dwelt a good deal on Juliet’s 
weakness, on her love for the boy, and her desire to see 
him once again. At the same time she added her ow’n 
conviction that Mrs. Wyvis Brand was on the high road to 
recovery, and would soon be fairly strong and well. She 
dared not give any hint as to a possible reconciliation, but 
she felt, even as she penned her letter, that it was to this 
end that she was working. “ And it is right,” she said 
steadily to herself; “ there is nothing to gain in disunion : 
everything to lose by unfaithfulness. It will be better for 
Julian — for all three — that father and mother should no 
longer be divided.” 

But although she argued thus, she had a somewhat differ- 
ent and entirely instinctive feeling in her heart. To begin 
with, she could not imagine persons more utterly unsuited 
to one another than Wyvis and his wife. Juliet had no 
principles, no judgment, to guide her: she was impulsive 
and passoinate ; she did not speak the truth, and she 
seemed in her wilder moments to care little what she 
did. Wyvis had faults — who knew them better than 
Janetta, who had studied his character with great and 
loving care ? — but they were nor of the same kind. 
His mood was habitually sombre ; Juliet loved plea- 
sure and variety : his nature was a loving one, strong 
and deep, although undisciplined ; but Juliet’s light and 
fickle temperament made her shrink from and almost dis- 
like characteristics so different from her own. And Jan- 
etta soon saw that in spite of her open defiance of her 
husband she was a little afraid of him; and she could well 
imagine that when Wyvis was angry he was a man of whom 
a woman might very easily be afraid. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


261 

Yet, when the letter was despatched, Janetta felt a sense 
of relief. She had at least done her duty, as she conceived 
of it. She did not know what the upshot might be ; but 
at any rate, she had done her best to put matters in train 
towards the solving of the problem of Wyvis’ married 
life. 

She was puzzled during the next few days by some curi- 
ous, indefinable change in Mrs. Brand’s demeanor. The 
poor woman had of late seemed almost distraught ; she 
had lost all care, apparently, for appearances, and went 
along the corridors moaning Wy vis’ name sadly to herself, 
and wringing her hands as if in bitter woe. Her dress was 
neglected, and her hair unbrushed : indeed, when Janetta 
was too busy to give her a daughter’s loving care, as it was 
her custom and her pleasure to do, poor Mrs. Brand 
roamed about the house looking like a madwoman. Her 
madness was, however, of a gentle kind : it took the form 
of melancholia, and manifested itself chiefly by continual 
restlessness and occasional bursts of weeping and lament. 

In one of these outbreaks Janetta found her shortly after 
she had sent her letter to Wyvis, and tried by all means 
in her power to soothe and pacify her. 

“ Dear grandmother,” she began — for she had caught 
the word from Julian, and Mrs. Brand liked her to use it — 
“ why should you be so sad? Wyvis is coming home, 
Juliet is better, little Julian is well, and we are all happy.” 

“ You are not happy,” said Mrs. Brand, throwing up 
her hands with a curiously tragic gesture. “You are 
miserable — miserable ; and I am the most unhappy woman 
living ! ” 

“ No,’’ said Janetta, gently. “ I am not miserable at 
all. And there are many women more unhappy than you 
are. You have a home, sons who love you, a grandson, 
friends — see how many things you have that other people 
want ! Is it right to speak of yourself as unhappy? ” 

“ Child,” said the older woman, impressively, “ you are 
young, and do not know what you say. Does happiness 
consist in houses and clothes, or even in children and 
friends? I have been happier in a cottage than in the 
grandest house. As for friends — what friends have I? 
None ; my husband would never let me make friends lest 
I should expose my ignorance, and disgrace him by my 
low birth and bringing up. I have never had a woman 
friend.” 


262 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ But your children,” said Janetta, putting her arms tern 
derly round the desolate woman’s neck. 

“ Ah, my children ! When they were babies, they were a 
pleasure to me. But they have never been a pleasure since. 
They have been a toil and a pain and a bondage. That 
began when Wyvis was a little child, and Mr. Brand took 
a fancy to him and wanted to make every one believe that 
he was his child, not John’s. I foresaw that there would 
be trouble, but he would never listen to me. It was just a 
whim of the moment at firsthand then, when he saw that 
the deceit troubled me, it became a craze with him. And 
whatever he said, I had to seem to agree with. I dared not 
contradict him. I hated the deceit, and the more I hated 
it, the more he loved it and practiced it in my hearing, 
until I used to be sick with misery. Oh, my dear, it is the 
worst of miseries to be forced into wrong-doing against 
your will.” 

“ But why did you give way? ’ said Janetta, who could 
not fancy herself in similar circumstances being forced into 
anything at all. 

“ My dear, he made me, I dared not cross him. He 
made me suffer, and he made the children suffer if ever I 
opposed him. What could I do? ” said the poor woman, 
twisting and untwisting her thin hands, and looking pite- 
ously into Janetta’s face. “ I was obliged to obey him — 
he was my husband, and so much above me, so much more 
of a gentleman than I ever was a lady. You know that I 
never could say him nay. He ruled me, as he used to say, 
with a rod of iron — for he made a boast of it, my dear — 
and he was never so happy, I think, as when he was tortur- 
ing me and making me wince with pain.” 

“ He must have been ” when Janetta stopped short : 

she could not say exactly what she thought of Mrs. Brand’s 
second husband. 

“ He was cruel, my dear : cruel, that is, to women. Not 
cruel amongst his own set — among his equals, as he would 
have said — not cruel to boys. But always cruel to women. 
Some woman must have done him a grievous wrong one 
day — I never knew who she was ; but I am certain that it 
was so ; and that soured and embittered him. He was 
revenging himself on that other woman, I used to think, 
when he was cruel to me.” 

Janetta dared not speak. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


263 


“I did not mind his cruelty when it meant nothing but 
bodily pain, you know, my dear,” Mrs. Brand continued 
patiently. “ But it was harder for me to bear when it came 
to what might be called moral things. You see I loved 
him, and I could not say him nay. If he told me to lie, I 
had to do it. 1 never forgave myself for the lies I told at 
his bidding. And if he were here to tell me to do the same 
things I should do them still. If he had turned Moham- 
medan, and told me to trample on the Bible or the Cross, 
as I have read in missionary books that Christians have 
sometimes been bribed to do, I should have obeyed him. 
I was his body and soul, and all my misery has come out 
of that.” 

“ How ? ” Janetta asked. 

“ I brought Wyvis up on a lie,” the mother answered, 
her face growing woefully stern and rigid as she mentioned 
his name, “ and it has been my punishment that he has 
always hated lies. I have trembled to hear him speak 
against falsehood — to catch his look of scorn when he be- 
gan to see that his father did not speak truth. Very early 
he made me understand that he would never be likely to 
forgive us for the deception we practiced on him. For his 
good, you will say ; but ah, my dear, deception is never 
for anybody’s good. I never forgave myself, and Wyvis 
will never forgive me. And yet he is my child. Now you 
see the happiness that lies in having children.” 

Janetta tried to dissipate the morbid terror of the past, 
the morbid dread of Wyvis’ condemnation, which hung 
like a shadow over the poor woman’s mind, but she was 
far from being successful. 

“ You do not know,” was all that Mrs. Brand would say. 
“ You do not understand.” And then she broke out more 
passionately — 

“ I have done him harm all his life. His misery has 
been my fault. You heard him tell me so. It is true : 
there is no use denying it. And he knows it.” 

“ He spoke in a moment of anger : he did not know 
what he said.” 

“ Oh, yes, he did, and he meant it too. I have heard 
him say a similar thing before. You see it was I that 
brought about this wretched marriage of his — because I 
pitied this woman, and thought her case was like my own 
that she loved Wyvis as I loved Mark Brand. I brought 


264 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


that marriage about, and Wyvis has cursed me evei 
since.” 

“No, no,” said Janetta, kissing her troubled face, 
“ Wyvis would never curse his mother for doing what 
she thought right. Wyvis loves you. Surely you know 
that — you believe that ? Wyvis is not a bad son.” 

“ No, my dear, not a bad son, but a cruelly injured 
one,” said Mrs. Brand. “And he blames me. I cannot 
blame him : it was all my fault for not opposing Mark when 
he wanted me to help him to carry out his wicked 
scheme.” 

“ I think,” said Janetta, tentatively, “ that Cuthbert has 
more right to feel himself injured than Wyvis.” 

“Cuthbert?” Mrs. Brand repeated, in an indifferent 
tone. “ Oh, Cuthbert is of no consequence : his father 
always said so. A lame, sickly, cowardly child ! If we 
had had a strong, healthy lad of our own, Mark would not 
have put Wyvis in Cuthbert’s place, but with a 'boy like 
Cuthbert, what would you expect him to do? ” 

It seemed to Janetta almost as if her mind were begin- 
ning to wander : the references to Cuthbert’s boyish days 
appeared to be so extraordinarily clear and defined — 
almost as though she were living again through the time 
when Cuthbert was supplanted by her boy Wyvis. But 
when she spoke again, Mrs. Brand’s words were perfectly 
clear, and apparently reasonable in tone. 

“ I often think that if I could do my poor boy some 
great service, he would forgive me in heart as well as ii\ 
deed. I would do anything in the world for him, Janetta, 
if only I could give him back the happiness of which I 
robbed him.” 

Janetta could not exactly see that the poor mother’s sina 
had been so great against Wyvis as against Cuthbert, but 
it was evident that Mrs. Brand could never be brought to 
look at matters in this light. The thought that she had 
injured her first-born son had taken possession of her 
completely, and seriously disturbed the balance of her 
faculties. The desire to make amends to Wyvis for her 
wrong-doing had already reached almost a maniacal point : 
how much further it might be carried Janetta never thought 
of guessing 

She was anxious about Mrs. Brand, but more so for her 
physical than for her mental strength. For her powers were 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


265 

evidently failing in every direction, and the doctor spoke 
warningly to Janetta of the weakness of her heart’s action, 
and the desirability of shielding her from every kind of 
agitation. It was impossible to provide against every kind 
of shock, but Janetta promised to do her best. 

The winter was approaching before Janetta’s letter to 
Wyvis received an answer. She was beginning to feel 
very anxious about it, for his silence alarmed and also 
surprised her. She could hardly imagine a man of Wyvis’ 
disposition remaining unmoved when he read the letter 
that she had sent him. His wife’s health was, moreover, 
giving her serious concern. She had caught cold on one 
of the foggy autumnal days, and the doctor assured her that 
her life would be endangered if she did not at once seek 
a warmer climate. But she steadily refused to leave the 
Red House. 

“ I won’t go,” she said to Janetta, with a red spot of 
anger on either cheek, “ until I know whether he means 
to do the proper thing by me or not.” 

“ He is sure to do that ; you need have no fear,” said 
Janetta, bluntly. 

An angry gleam shot from the sick woman’s eyes. 
k ‘You defend him through thick and thin, don’t you? 
Wyvis has a knack of getting women to stick up for him. 
They say the worst men are often the most beloved.” 

Janetta left the room, feeling both sick and sorry, and 
wondering how much longer she could bear this kind of 
life. It was telling upon her nerves and on her strength 
in every possible way. And yet she could not abandon 
* her post — unless, indeed, Wyvis himself relieved her. 
And from him for many weary days there came no word. 

But at last a telegram arrived — dated from Liverpool. 
“ I shall be with you to-morrow, Your letter was delayed, 
and reached me only by accident,” Wyvis said. And 
then his silence was explained. 

Janetta carried the news of his approaching arrival to 
wife and mother in turn. Mrs. Wyvis took it calmly. “ I 
told you so,” she said, with a triumphant little nod. But 
Mrs. Brand was terribly agitated, and even, as it seemed 
to Janetta, amazed. “ I never thought that he would 
come,” she said, in a loud whisper, with a troubled face and 
various nervous movements of her hands. “ I never 
thought that he would come back to her. I must be 


266 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


quick. I must be quick, indeed.” And when Janetta 
tried to soothe her, and said that she must now make 
haste to be well and strong when Wyvis was returning, 
she answered only in about the self-same words — “ never 
thought it, my dear, indeed, I never did. But if he is 
coming back so soon, I must be quick — I must be very 
quick.” 

And Janetta could not persuade her to say why. 


CHAPTER XXXVIL 

NIGHT. 

It was the night before Wyvis’ return. The whole house- 
hold seemed somewhat disorganized by the prospect. 
There was an air of subdued excitement visible in the 
oldest and staidest of the servants, for in spite of Wyvis’ 
many shortcomings and his equivocal position, he was 
universally liked by his inferiors, if not by those who 
esteemed themselves his superiors, in social station. Mrs. 
Brand had gone to bed early, and Janetta hoped that she 
was asleep ; Mrs. Wyvis had kept Janetta at her bedside 
until after eleven o’clock, regaling her with an account of 
her early experience in Paris. When at last she seemed 
sleepy, Janetta said good-night and went to her own room. 
She was tired but wakeful. The prospect of Wyvis’ return 
excited her ; she felt that it would be impossible to sleep 
that night, and she resolved therefore to establish herself 
before the fire in her own room, with a book, and to see, 
by carefully abstracting her mind from actual fact, whether 
she could induce the shy goddess, sleep, to visit her. 

She read for some time, but she had great difficulty in 
fixing her mind upon her book. She found herself conning 
the same words over and over again, without understand- 
ing their meaning in the least ; her thoughts flew con- 
tinually to Wyvis and his affairs, and to the mother and 
wife and son with whom her fate had linked her with such 
curious closeness. At last she relinquished the attest to 
read, and sat for some time gazing into the fire. She 
heard the clock strike one ; the quarter and half-hour 
followed at intervals, but still she sat on. Anyone who 


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267 


had seen her at that hour would hardly have recognized 
her for the vivacious, sparkling, ever cheerful woman who 
made the brightness of the Red House ; the sunshine had 
left her face, her eyes were wistful, almost sad ; the lines 
of her mouth drooped, and her cheeks had grown very pale. 
She felt very keenly that the period of happy, peaceful 
work and rest which she had enjoyed for the last few 
months was coming to an end. She was trying to picture 
to herself what her future life would be, and it was difficult 
to imagine it when her old ties had all been severed. “ It 
seems as if I had to give up everybody that I ever cared 
for,” she said to herself, not complainingly, but as one 
recognizing the fact that some persons are always more or 
less lonely in the world, and that she belonged to a lonely 
class. “ My father has gone — my brother and sisters do 
not need me ; Margaret abandoned lie ; Wyvis and his 
mother and Julian are lost to me from henceforth. God 
forgive me,” said Janetta to herself, burying her face in her 
hands and shedding some very heartfelt tears, “ if I seem 
to be repining at my friends' good fortune ; I do not mean 
it ; I wish them every joy. But what I fear is, lest it 
should not be for their good — that Wyvis and his mother 
and Julian should be unhappy.” 

She was roused from her reflection by a sound in the 
corridor. It was a creaking board, she knew that well 
enough ; but the board never creaked unless some one 
trod upon it. Who could be walking about the house at 
this time of night ? Mrs. Brand, perhaps ; she was 
terribly restless at night, and often went about the house, 
seeking to tire herself so completely that sleep would be 
inevitable on her return to bed. On a cold night, such 
expeditions were not, however, unattended by danger, as 
she was not careful to protect herself against draughts, 
and it was with the desire to care for her that Janetta at 
last rose and took up a soft warm shawl with which she 
thought that she might cover Mrs. Brand’s shoulders. 

With the shawl over her arm and a candle in one hand 
she opened her door and looked out into the passage. It 
was unlighted, and the air seemed very chilly.. Janetta 
stoS^along the corridor like a thief, and peeped into Mrs. 
Brand’s bedroom ; as was expected, it was empty. Then 
she looked into Julian’s room, for she had several times 
found the grandmother praying by his bed, at dead of 


26$ 


A TRUE FRJEND. 


night ; but Julian slumbered peacefully, and nobody else 
was there. Janetta rather wonderingly turned her atten- 
tion to the lower rooms of the house. But Mrs. Brand 
was not to be found in any of the sitting rooms ; and the 
hall duor was securely locked and bolted, so that she could 
not have gone out into the garden. 

“ She must be upstairs,” said Janetta to herself. “But 
what can she be doing in that upper storey, where there 
are only empty garrets and servants rooms ! I did not 
look into the spare room, however ; perhaps she has gone 
to see if it is ready for Wyvis, and I did not go to Juliet. 
She cannot have gone to her, surely ; she never enters the 
room unless she is obliged.” 

Nevertheless, her heart began to beat faster, and she 
involuntarily quickened her steps. She did not believe 
that Mrs. Brand would seek Juliet’s room with any good 
intent, and as she reached the top of the stairs her eyes 
dilated and her face grew suddenly pale with fear. For a 
strange whiff of something — was it smoke ? — came into her 
eyes, and an odd smell of burning assailed her nostrils. 
Fire, was it fire? She remembered that Wyvis had once 
said that the Red House would burn like tinder if it was 
ever set alight. The old woodwork was very combustible, 
and there was a great deal of it, especially in the upper 
rooms. 

Juliet’s door was open. Janetta stood before it for the 
space of one half second, stupefied and aghast. Smoke 
was rapidly filling the room and circling into the corridor ; 
the curtains near the window were in a blaze, and Mrs. 
Brand, with a lighted candle in her hand, was deliberately 
setting fire to the upholstery of the bed where the uncon- 
scious Juliet lay. Janetta never forgot the moment’s 
vision that she obtained of Mrs. Brand’s pale, worn, wildly 
despairing face — the face of a madwoman, as she now per- 
ceived, who was not responsible for the deed she did. 

Janetta sprang to the window curtains, dragged them 
down and trampled upon them. Her thick dressing gown 
and the woollen shawl that she carried all helped in 
extinguishing the flame. Her appearance had arreted 
Mrs. Brand in her terrible work ; she paused and began to 
tremble, as if she knew in some vague way that she was 
doing what was wrong. The flame had already caught 
the curtains, which were of a light material, and was creep- 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


269 

ing up to the woodwork of the old-fashioned bed, singeing 
and blackening as it went. These, also, Janetta tore 
down, burning her hands as she did so, and then with her 
shawl she pressed out the sparks that were beginning to 
fly dangerously near the sleeping woman. A heavy ewer 
of water over the mouldering mass of torn muslin and lace 
completed her task ; and by that time Juliet had started 
from her sleep, and was asking in hysterical accents what 
was wrong. 

Her screams startled the whole household, and the ser- 
vants came in various stages of dress and undress to know 
what was the matter. Mrs. Brand had set down her candle 
and was standing near the door, trembling from head to 
foot, and apparently so much overcome by the shock as to 
be unable to answer any question. That was thought very 
natural. “ Poor lady ! what a narrow escape ! No won- 
der she was upset,” said one of the maids sympathetically, 
and tried to lead her back to her own room. But Mrs. 
Brand refused to stir. 

Meanwhile Juliet was screaming that she was burning, 
that the whole house was on fire, that she should die of 
the shock, and that Wyvis was alone to blame — after her 
usual fashion of expressing herself wildly when she was 
suffering from any sort of excitement of mind. 

“ You are quite safe now,” Janetta said at last, rather 
sharply. “ The fire is out : it was never very much. Come 
into my room : the bed may be cold and damp now, and 
the smoke will make you cough.” 

She was right ; the lingering clouds of smoke were pro- 
ducing unpleasant effects on the throat and lungs of Mrs. 
Wyvis Brand ; and she was glad to be half led, half car- 
ried, by two of the servants into Janetta’s room. And no 
sooner was she laid in Janetta’s bed than a little white 
figure rushed out of another room and flew towards her, 
crying out : 

“ Mother ! Mother ! You are not hurt? ” 

She was not hurt, but she was shaken and out of breath, 
and Julian’s caresses were not altogether opportune. Still 
she did not seem to be vexed by them. Perhaps they were 
too ra'fe to be unwelcome. She let him creep into bed 
beside her, and lay with her arm round him as if he were 
still a baby at her breast, and then for a time they slept 
together, mother and child, as they had not slept since the 


270 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


days of Julian’s babyhood. For both it may have been 
a blessed hour. Julian scarcely knew what it was to feel a 
mother’s love ; and with Juliet, the softer side of her nature 
had long been hidden beneath a crust of coldness and 
selfishness. But those moments of tenderness which a 
common danger had brought to light would live for ever in 
Julian’s memory. 

While these two were sleeping, however, others in the 
house were busy. As soon as Juliet was out of the room, 
Janetta turned anxiously to Mrs. Brand. “ Come with me, 
dear,” she said. “ Come back to your room. You will 
catch cold.” 

She felt no repulsion, nothing but a great pity for the 
hapless woman whose nature was not strong enough to 
bear the strain to which it had been subjected, and she 
wished, above all things, to keep secret the origin of the 
fire. If Mrs. Brand would but be silent, she did not think 
that Juliet could fathom the secret, but she was not sure 
that poor Mrs. Brand would not betray herself. At pre- 
sent, she showed no signs of understanding what had been 
said to her. 

“ She is quite upset by the shock,” said the maid who 
had previously spoken. “ And no wonder. And oh ! Miss 
Colwyn, don’t you know how burnt your hands are ! You 
must have them seen to, I’m sure.” 

“Nevermind my hands, I don’t feel them,” said Janetta 
brusquely. “ Help me to get Mrs. Brand to her room, 
and then send for a doctor. Go to Dr. Burroughs, he will 
know what to do. I want him here as quickly as possible. 
And bring me some oil and cotton wool.” 

The servants looked at one another, astonished at the 
strangeness of her tone. But they were fond of her and 
always did her bidding gladly, so they performed her 
behest, and helped her to lead Mrs. Brand, who was now 
perfectly passive in their hands, into her own room. 

But when she was there, the old butler returned to 
knock at the door and ask to speak to Miss Colwyn alone. 
Janetta came out, with a feeling of curious fear. She held 
the handle of the door as he spoke to her. 

“ I beg pardon, m’m,” he said deferentially, “ but hadn’t 
I better keep them gossiping maids . out of the room 
over there?” 

Janetta looked into his face, and saw that he more than 
suspected the truth. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


271 


<( What do you mean ? ” she asked. 

“ The window curtains are burned, m’m, and the bed- 
curtains ; also the bed clothes in different places, and one 
or two other light articles about the room. It is easy to 
see that it was not exactly an accident, m’m.” 

Then, seeing Janetta’s color change, he added kindly, 
“ But there’s no call for you to feel afraid, m’m. We’ve all 
known as the poor lady’s been going off her head for a 
good long time ; and this is only perhaps what might have 
been expected, seeing what her feelings are. You leave it 
all to me, and just keep her quiet, m’m; I’ll see to the 
room, and nobody else shall put their foot into it. The 
master will be home this morning, I hope and trust.” 

He hobbled away, and Janetta went back to Mrs. Brand. 
The reaction was setting in ; her own hurts had not been 
attended to, and were beginning to give her a good deal of 
pain ; and she was conscious of sickness and faintness as 
well as fatigue. A great dread of Mrs. Brand’s next words 
and actions was also coming over her. 

But for the present, at least, she need not have been 
afraid ! Mrs. Brand was lying on the bed in a kind of 
stupor : her eyes were only half-open ; her hands were very 
cold. 

Janetta did her best to warm and comfort her physi- 
cally ; and then, finding that she seemed to sleep more 
naturally, she got her hands bound up and sat down to 
await the coming of the doctor. 

But she was not destined to wait in idleness very long.. 
She was summoned to Mrs. Wyvis Brand, who had 
awakened suddenly from her sleep and was coughing vio- 
lently. Little Julian had to be hastily sent back to his own 
room, for his mother’s cough was dangerous as well as 
distressing to her, and Janetta was anxious that he 
should not witness what might prove to be a painful 
sight. 

And she was not far wrong. For the violent cough pro- 
duced on this occasion one of its most serious results. 
The shock, the exposure, the exertion, had proved almost 
too much for Mrs. Wyvis Brand’s strength. She ruptured 
a blood-vessel just as the doctor entered the house; and 
all that he could do was to check the bleeding with ice, and 
enjoin perfect quiet and repose. And when he had seen 
her, he had to hear from Janetta the story of that terrible 


272 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


night. She felt that it was wise to trust Dr. Burroughs 
entirely, and she told him, in outline, the whole story of 
Mrs. Brand’s depression of spirits, and of her evident half- 
mad notion that she might gain Wyvis’ forgiveness for her 
past mistakes by some deed that would set him free from 
his unloved wife, and enable him to lead a happier life in 
the future. 

The doctor shook his head when he saw his patient. 
“ It is just as well for her, perhaps,” he said afterwards, 
“ but it is sad for her son and for those who love her — if any 
one does ! She will probably not recover. She is in a 
state of complete prostration ; and she will most likely slip 
away in sleep.” 

“ Oh, I am sorry,” said Janetta, with tears in her eyes. 

The doctor looked at her kindly. “ You need not be 
sorry for her, my dear. She is best out of a world which 
she was not fitted to cope with. You should not wish her 
to stay.” 

“ It will be so sad for Wyvis, when he comes home to- 
day,” murmured Janetta, her lip trembling. 

“ He is coming to-day, is he? Early this morning? I 
will stay with you, if you like.” 

Janetta was glad of the offer, although it gave her an 
uneasy feeling that the end was nearer than she thought. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

THE LAST SCENE. 

“ She does not know you,” Dr. Burroughs said, when, a 
few hours later, Wyvis bent over his mother’s pillow and 
looked into her quiet, care-lined face. 

“ Will she never know me ? ” asked the young man in a 
tone of deep distress. “ My poor mother ! I must tell her 
how sorry I am for the pain that I have often given her.” 

“ She may be conscious for a few minutes by-and-bye,” 
the doctor said. “ But consciousness will only show that 
the end is near.” 

There was a silence in the room. Mrs. Brand had now 
lain in a stupor for many hours. Wyvis had been greeted 
on his arrival with sad news indeed : his mother and wife 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


273 


were seriously ill, and the doctor acknowledged that he did 
not think Mrs. Brand likely to live for many hours. 

Wyvis had not been allowed to enter his wife’s room, 
Juliet had to be kept very quiet, lest the haemorrhage should 
return. He was almost glad of the respite ; he dreaded 
the meeting, and he was anxious to bestow all his time upon 
his mother. Janetta had told him something about what had 
passed ; he had heard an outline, but only an outline, of 
the sad story, and it must be confessed that as yet he could 
not understand it. It was perhaps difficult for a man to 
fathom the depths of a woman’s morbid misery, or of a 
doating mother’s passionate and unreasonable love. He 
grieved, however, over what was somewhat incomprehen- 
sible to him, and he thought once or twice with a sudden 
sense of comfort that Janetta would explain, Janetta would 
make him understand. He looked round for her when this 
idea occurred to him ; but she was not in the room. She 
did not like to intrude upon what might be the last inter- 
view between mother and son, for she was firmly persuaded 
that Mrs. Brand would recover consciousness, and would 
tell Wyvis in her own way something of what she had 
thought and felt ; but she was not far off, and when Wyvis 
sent her a peremptory message to the effect that she was 
wanted, she came at once and took up her position with 
him as watcher beside his mother’s bed. 

Janetta was right. Mrs. Brand’s eyes opened at last, and 
rested on Wyvis’ face with a look of recognition. She 
smiled a little, and seemed pleased that he was there. It 
was plain that for the moment she had quite forgotten the 
events of the last few hours, and the first words that she 
spoke proved that the immediate past had completely faded 
from her mind. 

“ Wyvis ! ” she faltered. “ Are you back again, dear? 
And is — is your father with you ? ” 

“ I am here, mother,” Wyvis answered. He could say 
nothing more. 

11 But your father ” 

Then something — a gleam of reawakening memory — 
seemed to trouble her ; she looked round the room, knitted 
her brows anxiously, and murmured a few words that 
Wyvis could not hear. 

‘‘ I remember now,” she said, in a stronger voice. a I 
wanted something — I thought it was your father, but it was 

18 


274 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


something quite different — I wanted your forgiveness, 
Wyvis.” 

“ Mother, mother, don’t speak in that way,” cried her 
son. “ Have you not suffered enough to expiate any 
mistake ? ” 

“ Any mistake, perhaps, not any sin,” said his mother 
feebly. “ Now that I am old and dying, I call things by 
their right names. I did you a wrong, and I did Cuthbert 
a wrong, and I am sorry now.” 

“ It is all past,” said Wyvis softly. “ It does not matter 
now.” 

“ You forgive me for my part in it? You do not hate 
me ? ” 

“ Mother ! Have I been cold to you then ? I have 
loved you all the time, and never blamed you in my heart.” 

“You said that I was to blame.” 

“ But I did not mean it. I never thought that you would 
take an idle word of mine so seriously, mother. Forgive 
me, and believe me that I would not have given you pain 
for the world if I had thought, if I had only thought that 
it would hurt you so much ! ” 

His mother smiled faintly, and closed her eyes for a 
moment, as if the exertion of speaking had been too much 
for her ; but, after a short pause, she started suddenly, and 
opened her eyes with a look of extreme terror. 

“ What is it,” she said. “ What have I done ? Where 
is she ? ” 

“ Who, mother ? ” 

“Your wife, Juliet. What did I do ? Is she dead? 
The fire — the fire ” 

Wyvis looked helplessly round for Janetta. He could 
not answer : he did not know how to calm his mother’s 
rapidly increasing excitement. Janetta came forward and 
bent over the pillow. 

“ No, Juliet is not dead. She is in her room ; you must 
not trouble yourself about her,” she said. 

Mrs. Brand’s eyes were fixed apprehensively on Janetta’s 
face. 

“Tell me what I did.” she said in a loud whisper. 

It was difficult to answer. Wyvis hid his face in a sort 
of desperation. He wondered what Janetta was going to 
say, and listened in amazement to her first words. 

“You were ill,” said Janetta clearly. “You did not 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


275 


know what you were doing, and you set fire to the curtains 
in her room. Nobody was hurt, and we all understand 
that you would have been very sorry to harm anybody. It 
is all right, dear grandmother, and you must remember 
that you were not responsible for what vou were doing 
then.” 

The boldness of her answer filed Wyvis with admiration. 
He knew that he — manlike — would have temporized and 
tried in vain to deny the truth, it was far wiser for Janetta 
to acknowledge and explain the facts. Mrs. Brand pressed 
the girl’s hand and looked fearfully in her face. 

“ She — she was not burned ? ” 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Stoop down,” said Mrs. Brand. 11 Lower. Close to 
my face. There — listen to me. I meant to kill her. Do 
you understand ? I meant to set the place on fire and 
let her burn. I thought she deserved it for making my boy 
miserable.” 

Wyvis started up, and turned his back to the bed. It 
was impossible for him to hear the confession with equa- 
nimity. But Janetta still hung over the pillow, caressing 
the dying woman, and looking tenderly into her face. 

“ Yes, you thought so then — I understand,” she said. 
“ But that was because of your illness. You do not think 
so now.” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Brand, in the same loud, hoarse 
whisper. “ I think so now.” 

Then Janetta was silent for a minute or two. The black, 
ghastly look in Mrs. Brand’s wide-open eyes disconcerted 
her. She scarcely knew what to say. 

“ I have always hated her. I hate her now,” said 
Wyvis’ mother. “ She has done me no harm ; no. But she 
has injured my boy j she made his life miserable, and I 
cannot forgive her for that.” 

“ If Wyvis forgives her,” said Janetta gently, “ can 
you not forgive her too ? ” # )} 

“ Wyvis does not forgive her for making him unhappy, 
said Mrs. Brand. 

“ Wyvis,” Janetta looked round at him. She could not 

see his face. He was standing with his face to the window 
and his back to the bed. “ Wyvis, you have come back 
to your wife . does not that show that you are willing to 
forget the past and to make a fresh beginning. Tell your 
mother so, Cousin Wyvis.” 


276 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


He turned round slowly, and looked at her, not at his 
mother, as he replied : 

“ Yes, I am willing to begin again,” he said. “ I never 
wished her any harm.” 

“Then, you will forgive her — for Wyvis’ sake? For 
Julian’s sake ? ” said Janetta. 

A strange contraction of the features altered Mrs. 
Brand’s face for a moment : her breath came with diffi- 
culty and her lips turned white. 

“ I forgive,” she said at last, in broken tones. “ I can- 
not quite forget. But I do not want — now — to harm her. 
It was but for a time — when my head was bad.” 

“ We know, we know,” said Janetta eagerly. “ We under- 
stand. Wyvis, tell her that you understand too.” 

She looked at him insistently, and he returned the look. 
Their eyes said a good deal to each other in a second’s 
space of time. In hers there was tenderness, expostula- 
tion, entreaty ; in his. some shade of mingled horror and 
regret. But he yielded his will to hers, thinking it nobler 
than his own ; and, turning to his mother, he stooped and 
kissed her on the forehead. 

“ I understand, mother. Janetta has made me under- 
stand.” 

“Janetta — it is always Janetta we have to thank,” his 
mother murmured feebly. “ It was for Janetta as well as 
for you that I did it. Wyvis — but it is no use now. And, 
God forgive me, I did not know what I did.” 

She sank into silence and spoke no more for the next 
few hours. Her life was quietly ebbing away. Towards 
midnight, she opened her eyes and spoke again. 

“Janetta — Wyvis,” she said softly, and then the last 
moment came. Her eyelids drooped, her head fell aside 
upon the pillow. There was no more for her to say or do. 
Poor Mary Brand’s long trial had come to an end at 
last. 

Juliet was not told of Mrs. Brand’s death until after the 
funeral, as it was feared that the news might unduly excite 
her. As it was, she gave a hoarse little scream when she 
heard it, and asked, with every appearance of horror, 
whether there was really “ a body ” in the house. On 
being informed by Janetta that “ the body ” had been 
removed, she became immediately tranquil, and remarked 
confidentially that she was “ not sorry, after all, for the 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


277 


old lady’s death : it was such a bore to have one’s husband’s 
mother in the house.” Then she became silent and thought- 
ful, and Janetta wondered whether some kindlier feeling 
were not mixing itself with her self-gratulation. But pre- 
sently Mrs. Wyvis Brand broke forth : 

“ Look here, I must say this, if I die for it. You know 
the night when my room was on fire. Well, now tell me 
true : wasn’t my mother-in-law to blame for it? ” 

Janetta looked at her in speechless dismay. She had 
no trust in Juliet’s disposition : she did not know whether 
she might revile Mrs. Brand bitterly, or be touched by an 
account of her mental suffering. Wyvis, however, had 
recommended her to tell his wife as much of the truth as 
seemed necessary ; “ because, if you don’t,” he said, “she 
is quite sharp enough to find it out for herself. So if she 
has any suspicion, tell her something. Anything is better 
than nothing in such a case.” 

And Janetta, taking her courage in both hands, so to 
speak, answered courageously : 

“ May I speak frankly to you, Juliet? ” For Mrs. Wyvis 
Brand had insisted that Janetta should always call her by 
her Christian name. 

11 Of course you may. What is it ? ” 

“ It is about Mrs. Brand. You must have known that 
for some time she had been very weak and feeble. Her 
mind was giving way. Indeed, she was far worse than we 
ever imagined, and she was not sufficiently watched. On 
that night, it was she whom you saw, and it was she who 
set fire to the curtains ; but you must remember, Juliet, 
that she was not in her right mind.” 

“ Why, I might have been burned alive in my bed,” 
cried Juliet — an exclamation so thoroughly characteristic 
that Janetta could hardly forbear to smile. Mrs. Wyvis 
Brand looked terribly shocked and disconcerted, and it 
was after a pause that she collected herself sufficiently to 
say in her usual rapid manner : 

“ You may say what you like about her being mad ; but 
Mrs. Brand knew very well what she was doing. She 
always hated me, and she wanted to get me out of the way.” 

11 Oh, Juliet, don’t say so,” entreated Janetta. 

“ But I do say so, and I will say so, and I have reason 
on my side. She hated me like poison, and she loved you 
dearly. Don’t you see what she wanted ? She would have 
liked you to take my place.” 


278 


A true friend. 


“ If you say such things, Juliet ” 

“ You’ll go out of the room, won’t you, my dear ? Why,” 
said Juliet, with a hard laugh in which there was very little 
mirth, “ you don’t suppose I mind ? I have known long 
enough that she thought bad things of me. Don’t you 
remember the name you called me when you thought I 
wanted Julian? You had learnt every one o( them from 
her, you know you had. Oh, you needn’t apologize. I 
understand the matter perfectly. I bear no malice either 
against her or you, though I don’t know that I am quite 
the black sheep that you both took me to be.” 

“ I am sorry if I was unjust,” said Janetta slowly. “ But 
all that I meant amounts to one thing — that you did not 
make my Cousin Wyvis very happy.” 

“Ah, and that’s the chief thing, isn’t it ? ” said Juliet, 
with a keen look. “ Well, don’t be frightened, I’m going 
to change my ways. I’ve had a warning if anybody ever 
had ; and I’m not going to get myself turned out of house 
and home. If Wyvis will stick to me, I’ll stick to him ; 
and I can’t say more than that. I should like to see him 
now.” 

“ Now, Juliet? ” said Janetta, rather aghast at the idea. 
The meeting between husband and wife had not yet taken 
place, and Janetta shrank sensitively from the notion that 
Juliet might inflict fresh pain on Wyvis on the very day of 
his mother’s funeral. But Mrs. Wyvis Brand insisted, and 
her husband was summoned to the room. 

“ You needn’t go away, Janetta,” said Juliet imperatively. 
“ I want you as a witness. Well, Wyvis, here I am, and I 
hope you are glad to see me.” 

She lifted herself a little from the couch on which she 
lay, and looked at him defiantly. Janetta could see that 
he was shocked at the sight of her w r asted outlines, her 
hectic color, the unhealthy brilliance of her eyes ; and it 
was this sight, perhaps, that caused him to say gently : 

“ I am sorry not to see you looking better.” 

“ The politest speech he has made me for years,” she 
said, laughing. “ Well, half a loaf is better than no bread. 
We didn’t hit it off exactly the last time we saw each other, 
did we ? Suppose we try again : should we get on any 
better, do you think ? ” 

“ We might try,” said Wyvis slowly. 

He was pale and grave, but, as she saw, not unwilling 
t ) make peace. 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


279 


“ All right,” she said, holding out her hand to him with 
easy, audacious grace, “ let us try then. I own I was 
aggravating — -own in your turn that you were tyrannical 
now and then ! You witness that he owns up, Janetta — 
why, the girl’s gone ! Nevermind: give me a kiss now we 
are alone, Wyvis, and take me to the Riviera to-morrow if 
you want to save my life.” 

Wyvis kissed his wife and promised to do what she asked 
him, but he did not look as if he expected to have an easy 
task. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

MAKING AMENDS. 

“ It is pleasant to be home again,” said Margaret. 

For two years she had not seen the Court. For two 
years she and her parents had roamed over the world* 
spending a winter in Egypt or Italy, a summer in Norway, 
a spring or autumn at Biarritz, or Pau, or some other re- 
sort of wealthy and idle Englishmen. These wanderings 
had been begun with the laudable object of weaning Mar- 
garet’s heart away from Wyvis Brand, but they had been 
continued long after Margaret’s errant fancy had been 
chided back to its wonted resting place. The habit of 
wandering easily grows, and the two years had slipped 
away so pleasantly that it was with a feeling almost of 
surprise that the Adairs reckoned up the time that had 
elapsed since they left England. Then Margaret had a 
touch of fever, and began to pine for her home ; and, as 
her will was still law (in all minor points, at least), her 
parents at once turned homeward, and arrived at Helmsley 
Court in the month of May, when the woods and gardens 
were at their loveliest, bright with flowers, and verdant 
with the exquisite green of the spring foliage, before it 
becomes dusty and faded in the summer-heat. 

“ It is pleasant to be at home again,” said Margaret, 
standing at the door of the conservatory one fair May 
morning and looking at the great sweep of green sward 
before her, where elm and beech trees made a charming 
shade, and beds of brightly-tinted flowers dotted the grass, 
at intervals. “ I was so tired of foreign towns.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


280 

“ Were you, dear ? You did not say so until lately," 
said Lady Caroline. 

“ I did not want to bring you and papa home until you 
were ready to come,” said Margaret gently. 

“ Dear child. And you have lost your roses ! English 
country air will soon bring them back.” 

“ I never had much color, mamma,” said Margaret 
gravely. It was almost as though she were not quite 
well pleased by the remark. 

She moved away from the door, and Lady Caroline’s 
eyes followed her with a solicitude which had more anxiety 
and less pride than they used to show. For Margaret had 
altered during the last few months. She had grown more 
slender, more pale than ever, and a certain languor was 
perceptible in her movements and the expression of her 
beautiful eyes. She was not less fair, perhaps, than she 
had been before ; and the ethereal character of her beauty 
had only been increased by time. Lady Caroline had 
been seriously distressed lately by the comments made by 
her acquaintances upon Margaret’s appearance. “ Very 
delicate, surely,” said one. “ Do you think that your 
daughter is consumptive ? ” said another. “ She would 
be so very pretty if she looked stronger,” remarked a third. 
Now these were not precisely the remarks that Lady 
Caroline liked her friends to make. 

She could not quite understand her daughter. Mar- 
garet had of late become more and more reticent. She 
was always gentle, always caressing, but she was not 
expansive. Something was amiss with her spirits or her 
health : nobody could exactly say what it was. Even her 
father discovered at last that she did not seem well ; but, 
although he grumbled and fidgeted about it, he did not 
know how to suggest a remedy. Lady Caroline hoped 
that the return to England would prove efficacious in re- 
storing the girl’s health and spirits, and she was encouraged 
by hearing Margaret express her pleasure in her English 
home. But she felt uneasily that she was not quite sure 
as to what was wrong. 

“ People are beginning to call very quickly,” she said, 
looking at some cards that lay in a little silver tray. “ The 
Bevans have been here, Margaret.” 

“ Hive they ? When we were out yesterday, I suppose ? ” 

“ Yes. And the Accringtons, and — oh, ah, yes — two 
or three other people.” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


281 


“ Who, mamma ? ” said Margaret, her attention imme- 
diately attracted by her mother’s hesitation. She turned 
away from the door and entered the morning-room as she 
spoke. 

“ Oh, only Lady Ashley, dear,” said Lady Caroline 
smoothly. She had quite recovered her self-possession by 
this time. 

“ And Sir Philip Ashley,” said Margaret, with equal 
calmness, as she glanced at the cards in the little silver 
dish. But the lovely color flushed up into her cheeks, 
and as she stood with her eyes cast down, still fingering 
the cards, her face assumed the tint of the deepest rose- 
carnation. 

“Is that the reason?” thought Lady Caroline, with a 
sudden little thrill of fear and astonishment. “ Surely 
not ! After all this time — and after dismissing him so 
summarily ! Well, there is no accounting for girls’ tastes.” 

She said aloud : 

“ We ought to return these calls pretty soon, I think. 
With such old friends it would be nice to go within the 
week. Do you not agree with me, love ? ” 

“ Yes, mamma,” said Margaret dutifully. 

“Shall we go to-morrow then? To the Bevans first, 
and then to the Ashleys ? ” 

Margaret hesitated. “ The Accringtons live nearer the 
Bevans than Lady Ashley,” she said. “ You might call on 
Lady Ashley next day, mamma.” 

“ Yes, darling,” said Lady Caroline. She was reassured. 
She certainly did not want Margaret to show any alacrity 
in seeking out the Ashleys, and she hoped that that tell- 
tale blush had been due to mere maiden modesty and not 
to any warmer feeling, which would probably be completely 
thrown away upon Philip Ashley, who was not the man to 
offer himself a second time to a woman who had once 
refused him. 

She noticed, however, that Margaret showed no other 
sign of interest in Sir Philip and his mother; that she did 
not ask for any account of the call paid, without her, by 
Lady Caroline a day or two later. Indeed, she turned 
away and talked to Alicia Stone while Lady Caroline was 
telling Mr. Adair of the visits that she had made. So the 
mother was once more reassured. 

She was made uneasy again by an item of news that 


282 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


reached her ear soon after her return home. “ Mr. Brand 
is coming back,” said Mrs. Accrington to her, with a 
meaning smile. “ I hear that there are great preparations 
at the Red House. His wife is dead, you know.” 

“ Indeed,” said Lady Caroline, stiffly. 

“ Yes, died at Nice last spring or summer, I forget 
which ; I suppose he means to settle at home now. They 
say he’s quite a changed character.” 

“ I am glad to hear it,” said Lady Caroline. 

She felt annoyed as well as anxious. Was it possible 
that Margaret knew that Wyvis Brand was coming home ? 
In spite of the inveterate habit of caressing Margaret and 
making soft speeches, in spite also of the very real love 
that she had for her daughter, Lady Caroline did not 
altogether trust her. Margaret had once or twice dis- 
appointed her too much. 

“ His little boy,” continued Mrs. Accrington in a 
conversational tone, “ has been spending the time with 
Mr. Brand’s younger brother and his wife, one of the 
Colwyn girls, wasn’t she ? And the eldest Colwyn girl, 
the one who sang, has been acting as his governess. She 
used to be companion to old Mrs. Brand you know.” 

“ I remember,” said Lady Caroline, and managed to 
change the subject. 

She would have liked to question Margaret, but she did 
not dare. She watched her carefully for the next few days, 
and she was not satisfied. Margaret was nervous and 
uneasy, as she had been about the time when Wyvis Brand 
made his indiscreet proposal for her hand ; it seemed to 
Lady Caroline that she was watching for some person to 
arrive — some person who never came. Who was the 
person for whom she watched ? so Lady Caroline asked 
herself. But she dared not question Margaret. 

She noticed, too, that Mr. Adair looked once or twice at 
his daughter in a curiously doubtful way, as if he were 
puzzled or distressed. And one day he said musingly : 

“ It is surely time for Margaret to be getting married, 
is it not ? ” 

“ Somebody has been saying so to you,” said Lady 
Caroline, with less urbanity than usual. 

“ No, no, only Isabel ; she wrote this morning express- 
ing some surprise at not having heard that Margaret was 
engaged before now. I suppose,” Mr. Adair hesitated a 
little, “ I suppose she will marry ? ” 


A TRUE FRIEND. 283 

“ Reginald, what an idea ! Of course Margaret will 
marry, and marry brilliantly.” 

“ I am not so sure of that,” said Mr. Adair, who seemed 
to be in low spirits. “ Look at my two sisters, and lots of 
other girls. How many men has Margaret refused ? She 
will take up with some crooked stick at last.” 

He went out without waiting for his wife’s reply. Lady 
Caroline, harassed in mind and considerably weakened of 
late in body, sat still and shed a few silent tears. She was 
angry with him, and yet she shared his apprehensions. 
Was it possible that their lovely Margaret was turning out 
a social failure? To have Margaret at home, fading, 
ageing, growing into an old maid like the sisters of 
Reginald Adair, that was not to be thought of for a 
moment. 

Meanwhile Margaret was taking her fate in her own 
hands. 

She was at that very moment standing in the conserva- 
tory opposite a tall, dark man, who, hat in hand, looked 
at her expectantly as if he wished her to open the conver- 
sation. She had never made a fairer picture than she did 
just then. She was dressed in white, and the exquisite 
fairness of her head and face was thrown into strong relief 
by the dark background of fronded fern and thickly 
matted creeper with which the wall behind her was over- 
grown. Her face was slightly bent, and her hands hung 
clasped before her. To her visitor, who was indeed Sir 
Philip Ashley, she appeared more beautiful than ever. 
But his eye, as it rested upon her, though attentive, was 
indifferent and cold. 

“You sent for me, I think?” he said politely, finding 
that she did not speak. 

“ Yes.” Margaret’s voice was very low. “ I hope you 
did not mind my writing that little note ? ” 

“ Mind? Not at all. If there is anything I can do for 
you ? ” 

“ It is not that I want you to do anything,” said Mar- 
garet, whose self-possession, not easily disturbed, was now 
returning to her. “ It was simply that I had something to 
say.” 

Sir Philip bowed. His role was that of a listener, it 
appeared. 

“ When I was in England before,” Margaret went on, 
this time with some effort, “ you found fault with me ” 


284 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


“ Presumption on my part, I am sure,” said Sir Philip, 
smiling a little. “ Such a thing will certainly not occur 
again.” 

“ Oh please hear me,” said Margaret, rather hurriedly. 
“ Please listen seriously — I am very serious, and I want 
you to hear what I have to say.” 

“ I will listen,” said Sir Philip, gravely; he turned aside 
a little, and looked at the flowers as she spoke. 

I want to tell you that you were right about Janetta 
Colwyn. The more I have thought of it, the more sure 
I have been that you were right. I ought not to have 
been angry when you asked me to prevent people from 
misjudging her. I ought to have written to Miss Pole- 
hampton and set things straight.” 

Sir Philip made an inarticulate sound of assent. She 
paused for a moment, and then went on pleadingly. 

“ It’s such a long time ago now that I do not know what 
to do. I cannot ask mamma. She never liked Janetta 
— she never was just to her. I do not even know where 
Janetta is, nor whether I can do anything to help her. 
Do you know ? ” 

“ I know where she is. At the Red House just now, 
with Mr. and Mrs. Cuthbert Brand.” 

“ Then — what shall I do ? ” said Margaret, more urgent- 
ly. “Would it be of any use if I wrote to Miss Poleharnp- 
ton or anyone about her now ? I will do anything I can 
to help her — anything you advise.” 

Sir Philip changed his position, as if he were slightly 
impatient. 

“ I do not know that there is anything to be done for 
Miss Colwyn at present,” he replied. “ She is in a very 
good position, and I do not think she wants material help. 
Of course, if you were to see her and tell her that you 
regret the manifest injustice with which she was treated 
on more than one occasion, I dare say she would be glad, 
and that such an acknowledgment from you would draw 
out the sting from much that is past and gone. I think 
that this is all you can do.” 

“ I will do it,” said Margaret submissively. “ I will tell 
her that I am sorry.” 

“You will do well,” replied Sir Philip in a kinder tone. 
“ I am only sorry that you did not see things differently 
when we spoke of the matter before.” 


A TRUE FRIEND . 285 

“ I am older now, I have thought more. I have reflected 
on what you said,” murmured Margaret. 

“ You have done my poor words much honor,” said he, 
with a slight cold smile. “ And I am glad to think that the 
breach in your friendship is healed. Miss Colwyn is a 
true and loyal friend — I could not wish you a better. I 
shall feel some pleasure in the thought, when I am far 
from England, that you have her for your friend once 
more.” 

“ Far from England ” — Margaret repeated the words 
with paling lips. 

“ Did you not know ? I have accepted a post in Vic- 
toria. I shall be out for five years at least. So great a 
field of usefulness seems open to me there that I did not 
know how to refuse it.” 

Margaret was mute for a time. Then, with a tremendous 
effort, she put another question. “ You go — alone ? ” she 
said. 

Sir Philip did not look at her. 

“ No,” he said, kicking a small pebble off the tesselated 
pavement with the toe of his boot, and apparently taking 
the greatest interest in its ultimate fate, “no, I don't go 
quite alone. I am taking with me my secretary — and — my 
wife. I suppose you know that next week I am going to 
marry Miss Adela Smithies, daughter of Smithies the 
great brewer? We sail ten days later.” 


CHAPTER XL. 

MY FAITHFUL JANET. 

“ Good blood,” they say, “ does not lie.” Margaret was 
true to her traditions. She did not faint, she did not 
weep, over what was complete ruin to her expectations, if 
not of her hopes. She held her head a little more erect 
than usual, and looked Sir Philip quietly in the face. 

“ I am very glad to hear it,” she said — it was a very 
excusable lie, perhaps. “ I hope you will be happy.” 

Strange to say, her calmness robbed Sir Philip of his 
self-possession. He flushed hotly and looked away, think- 
ing of some words that he had spoken many months ago to 


286 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


Margaret’s mother — a sort of promise to be “always 
ready ” if Margaret should ever change her mind. Had 
she changed it now? But she was not going to leave him 
in doubt upon this point. 

“ You have only just forestalled a similar announcement 
on my part,” she said, smiling bravely. “ I dare say you 
will hear all about it soon — and I hope that you will wish 
me joy.” 

He looked up with evident relief. 

“ I am exceedingly glad. I may congratulate you then ? ” 

“Thank you. Yes, we may congratulate each other.” 

She still smiled — rather strangely, as he thought. He 
wondered who the “ happy man ” could be? But of that, 
to tell the truth, Margaret was as ignorant as he. She 
had invented her little tale of an engagement in self- 
defence. 

“ Ah, Margaret,” he said, with a sudden impulse of 
affection, “ if only you could have seen as I saw — two 
years ago ! ” 

“ But that was impossible,” she answered quietly. “ And 
I think it would be undesirable also. I wanted you to 
know, however, that I agree with you about Janetta — I 
think that you were right.” 

“ And you have nothing more to tell me? - ’ 

For the moment he was willing to throw up his appoint- 
ment in Australia, to fly from the wealthy and sensible 
Miss Adela Smithies and incur any odium, any disappoint- 
ment, and any shame, if only Margaret Adair would own 
that she loved him and consent to be his wife. For, 
although he liked and esteemed Miss Smithies, who was a 
rather plain-faced girl with a large fortune, he was perfectly 
conscious that Margaret had been the one love of his life. 
But Margaret was on her guard. 

“ To tell you ? ” she echoed, as if in mild surprise. “ Why 
no, I think not, Sir Philip. Except, perhaps, to ask you 
not to speak — for the present, at least — of my own pros- 
pects, they are not yet generally known, and I do not want 
them mentioned just now.” 

“ Certainly. I will respect your confidence,” said Sir 
Philip. He felt ashamed of that momentary aberration. 
Adela was a very suitable wife for him, and he could not 
think without remorse that he had ever proposed to him- 
self to be untrue to her. How fortunate, he reflected, that 
Margaret did not seem to care ! 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


287 


“ Will you come in ? ” she said graciously. “ Mamma will 
be so pleased to see you, and she will be glad to congra- 
tulate you on your good fortune.” 

“ Thank you very much, but I fear I must be off. I am 
very busy, and I really have scarcely any time to spare.” 

“ I must thank you all the more for giving me some of 
your valuable time,” said Margaret sweetly. “Must you 
go ? ” 

* I really must. And — ” as he held out his hand — “ we 
are friends, then, from henceforth ? ” 

“ Oh, of course we are,” she answered. But her eyes 
were strangely cold, and the smile upon her lips was 
conventional and frosty. The hand that he held in his 
own was cold, too, and somewhat limp and flabby. 

“ I am so glad,” he said, growing warmer as she grew 
cold, “ that you have resolved to renew your acquain- 
tance with Miss Colwyn. It is what I should have 
expected from your generous nature, and it shows that 
what I always — always thought of you was true.” 

u Please do not say so,” said Margaret. She came very 
near being natural in that moment. She had a choking 
sensation in her throat, and her eyes smarted with unshed 
tears. But her training stood her in good stead. “ It is 
very kind of you to be so complimentary,” she went on 
with a light little laugh. “And I hope that I shall find 
Janetta as nice as she used to be. Good-bye. Bon 
voyage .” 

“ I wish you every happiness,” he said with a warm 
clasp of her hand and a long grave look into her beautiful 
face; and then he went away and Margaret was left 
alone. 

She stole up to her room almost stealthily, and locked 
the door. She hoped that no one had seen Sir Philip come 
and go — that her mother would not question her, or remark 
on the length of his visit. She was thoroughly frightened 
and ashamed to think of what she had done. She had 
been as near as possible to making Sir Philip what would 
virtually have been an offer of marriage. What an av’ful 
thought ! And what a narrow escape ! For of course he 
would have had to refuse her, and she — what could she 
have done then? She would never have borne the morti- 
fication. As it was, she hoped that Sir Philip would accept 
the explanation of the little note of summons which she 


288 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


had despatched to him that morning, and would never 
inquire what her secret motive had been in writing it. 

She set herself to consider the situation. She did not 
love Sir Philip. She was not capable of a great deal of 
love, and all that she had been capable of she had given to 
Wyvis Brand. But the years of girlhood in her father’s 
house were beginning to pall upon her. She was conscious 
of a slight waning of her beauty, of a perceptible diminution 
in the attentions which she received and the admiration 
that she excited. It had occurred to her lately, as it had 
occurred to her parents, that she ought to think seriously 
of getting married. The notion of spinsterhood was odious 
to Margaret Adair. And Sir Philip Ashley would have 
been, as her mother used to say, so suitable a man for her 
to marry ! Margaret saw it now. 

She wept a few quiet tears for her lost hopes, and then 
she arrayed herself becomingly, and, with a look of pur- 
pose on her face, went down to tea. 

“ Do you know, mamma,” she said, “ that Sir Philip 
Ashley is going to marry Miss Smithies, the great brewer’s 
daughter, and that he has accepted a post in Victoria ? ” 

“ Margaret ! ” 

“ It is quite true, mamma, he told me so himself. Why 
need you look surprised ? We could hardly expect,” said 
Margaret, with a pretty smile, “ that Sir Philip should 
always remain unmarried for my sake.” 

“ It is rather sudden, surely ! ” 

“ Oh, I don’t think so. By the bye, mamma, shall we 
not soon feel a little dull if we are here all alone ? It would 
be very nice to fill the house with guests and have a little 
gaiety. Perhaps — ” with a faint but charming blush — 
“ Lord Southbourne would come if he were asked.” 

Lord Southbourne was an exceptionable viscount with 
weak brains and a large rent-roll whom Margaret had 
refused six months before. 

“ I am sure he would, my darling ; I will ask him,” said 
Lady Caroline, with great satisfaction. And she noticed 
that Margaret’s watch for an unknown visitor had now 
come to its natural end. 

It was not more than a month later in the year when 
Janetta Colwyn, walking in the plantation near the Red 
House, came face to face with a man who was leaning- 
against the trunk of a fir-tree, and had been waiting for her 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


289 


to approach. She looked astonished ; but he was calm, 
though he smiled with pleasure, and held out his hands. 

“ Well, Janetta ! ” 

“ Wyvis ! You have come home at last 1” 

“ At last.** 

“ You have not been up to the house yet ? ” 

“ No, I was standing here wishing that I could see you 
first of all ; and, just as I wished it, you came in sight. I 
take it as a good omen.” 

“ I am glad you are back,” said Janetta earnestly. 

“ Are you ? Really ? And why ? ” 

“ Oh, for many reasons. The estate wants you, for one 
thing,” said Janetta, coloring a little, “and Julian wants 


“ Don’t you want me at all, Janetta ? ” 

“ Everybody wants you, so I do, too.” 

“ Tell me more about everybody and everybody’s wants. 
How is Julian ? ” 

“Very well, indeed, and longing to see you before he 
goes to school.” 

“ Ah yes, poor little man. How does he like the idea 
of school? ” 

“ Pretty well.” 

“ And how do you like the idea of his going ? ” 

Janetta’s face fell. “ I am sure it is good for him,” she 
said rather wistfully. 

“ But not so good for you. What are you going to do ? 
Shall you live with Mrs. Burroughs, Janet ? ’ 

“No, indeed ; I think I shall take lodgings in London, 
and give lessons. I have saved money during the last few 
months,” said Janetta with something between a tear in 
the eye and a smile on the lip, “ so that I shall be able to 
live even if I get no pupils at first.” 

“ And shall you like that ? ” 

She looked at him for a moment without replying, and 
then said cheerfully * 

“ I shall not like it if I get no pupils.” 

“ And how are Cuthbert and Nora ? ” 

“ Absorbed in baby-worship,” said Janetta. “ You will 
be expected to fall down and worship also. And your 
little niece is really very pretty.” 

Wyvis shook his head. “ Babies are all exactly alike to 
me, so you had better instruct me beforehand in what I 


290 


A TRUE FRIEND. 


ought to say. And what about our neighbors, Janet ? Are 
the Adairs at home ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Janetta, with some reserve of tone. 

“ And the Ashleys ? ” 

li Old Lady Ashley. Sir Philip has married and gone to 
the Antipodes.” 

“ Married Margaret ? I always thought that would be 
the end of it.” 

“You are quite wrong. He married a Miss Smithies, a 
very rich girl, I believe. And Margaret is engaged to a 
certain Lord Southbourne — who is also very rich, I 
believe.” 

“ Little Southbourne ! ” exclaimed Wyvis, with a sudden 
burst of laughter. “ You don’t say so ! I used to know 
him at Monaco. Oh, there’s no harm in little South ; only 
he isn’t very bright.” 

“ I am sorry for Margaret,” said Janetta. 

“ Oh she will be perfectly happy. She will always move 
in her own circle of society, and that is paradise for 
Margaret.” 

“ You are very hard on her, Wyvis,” Janetta said, re- 
provingly. “ She is capable of higher things than you 
believe.” 

“ Capable ! Oh, she may be capable of anything,” said 
Wyvis, “ but she does not do the things that she is capable 
of doing.” 

“ At any rate she is very kind to me now. She wrote to 
me a few days ago, and told me that she was sorry for our 
past misunderstanding. And she asked me to go and stay 
with her when she was married to Lord Southbourne and 
had a house of her own.” 

“ Are you sure that she did not add that it would be such 
an advantage to you ? ” 

“ Of course she did not.” But Janetta blushed guiltily, 
nevertheless. 

“ And did you promise to accept the invitation ? ” 

She smiled and shook her head. 

“ I thought you were such a devoted friend of hers ! ” 

“ I always tried to be a true friend to her. But you 
know I think, Wyvis, that some people have not got it in 
their nature to be true friends to anyone. And perhaps it 
was not — quite — in Margaret’s nature.” 

“ I agree with you,” said Wyvis, more gravely than he 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


291 


had spoken hitherto. “ She has not your depth of affec- 
tion, Janetta — your strength of will. You have been a 
very true and loyal friend to those you have loved.” 

Janetta turned away her face. Something in his words 
touched her very keenly. After a pause, Wyvis spoke 
again. 

“ I have had reason since I saw you last to know the 
value of your friendship,” he said seriously. “ I want to 
speak to you for a moment, Janetta, before we join the 
others, about my poor Juliet. I had not, as you know, 
very many months with her after we left England. But 
during those few months I became aware that she was a 
different creature from the woman I had known in earlier 
days. She showed me that she had a heart — that she 
loved me and our boy after all — and died craving my 
forgiveness, poor soul (though God knows that I needed 
hers more than she needed mine), for the coldness she had 
often shown me. And she said, Janetta, that you had 
taught her what love meant, and she charged me to tell 
you that your lessons had not been in vain.” 

Janetta looked up with swimming eyes. “Poor Juliet 1 
I am glad that she said that.” 

“ She is at peace now,” said Wyvis, in a lower voice, 
“ and the happiness of her later days is due to you. But 
how much is not due to you, Janetta ! Your magic power 
seemed to change my poor wife’s very nature : it has made 
my child happy : it gave all possible comfort to my mother 
on her dying, bed — and what it has done for me no words 
can ever tell ! No one has been to me what you have 
been, Janetta ; the good angel of my life, always inspiring 
and encouraging, always ready to give me hope and 
strength and courage in my hours of despair.” 

“ You must not say so : I have done nothing, . she said, 
but she let her hand lie unresistingly between his own, as 
he took it and pressed it tenderly. 

“ Have you not ? Then I have been woefully mistaken. 
And it has come across me strangely, Janetta, of late, that 
of all the losses I have had, one of the greatest is the loss 
of my kinship with you. No doubt you have thought of 
that : John Wyvis, the ploughman’s son, is not your cousin, 
Wyvis Brand.” 

“ I never remembered it,” said Janetta. 

« Then I must remind you of it now, I cannot call yot* 


292 


A TRUE FRIEND . 


Cousin Janet any longer. May I call you something else, 
dear, so that I may not lose you out of my life ? I want 
you to be something infinitely closer and dearer and sweeter 
than a cousin, Janetta; will you forgive me all my errors 
and be my wife ? ” 

And when she had whispered her reply, he took her in 
his arms and called her, as her father used to call her — 

“ My faithful Janet ! ” 

And she thought that she had never borne a sweeter 
name. 


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